


Jessica Jones: The Next Phase

by QuietQuill



Category: Jessica Jones (TV)
Genre: Canon Related, Character Study, Multi, Relationship(s), Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-17
Updated: 2016-04-03
Packaged: 2018-05-14 12:24:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 31,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5743783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuietQuill/pseuds/QuietQuill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This story takes place after Season One of the television series.  It's a blend of canon and alternate characters, concentrating chiefly on Jessica's struggle to reconcile what she is with what the world wants her to be.   While there are many story arcs to investigate, I've decided to go down the IGH one.  Instead of a Kilgrave resurrection I will be introducing an alternate antihero and more 'gifted' characters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. AKA That's rhetorical right?

**_AKA That’s Rhetorical right?_ **

 

Luke was gone, either chased away by personal demons or tired of the drama. Either way, his absence was something she couldn’t— _wouldn’t­ ­_ think about, not now, perhaps ever. Their history was short but brutal and the memories needed to be silenced. The bottle of Wild Fowl was on the desk in front of her, almost full. With a sigh, Jessica reached for it. Her dark eyes closed as she upended the bottle and swallowed for about a minute or so. It burned, of course it did, but never enough. The images kept assailing her: _Trish kissing Kilgrave, Luke relentlessly going after her in the church, Hope slicing her own throat_. And so many more flashes that threatened to blind her. Jessica wiped her mouth with the back of her hand then stood, ignoring Malcolm’s nervous hovering. She could feel his eyes on her, searching and wary.

                Every muscle in her body protested when she walked across the floor, heading to the bedroom, bottle in hand. _Kilgrave_ _was dead_. The realization was hard to believe. She thought he’d been dead before, once. Being wrong twice would probably prove fatal because, really, how many times could she defeat a mind controlling killer? That thought, too, needed to be shoved somewhere deep and dark. Malcolm’s industrious endeavors had set the room to rights for what little good it did him: Jessica barely noticed. She sank down onto the made up bed, cramming a pillow behind her head as she kicked off her boots. _Luke_. His smell invaded her nose, setting off a barrage of images. Jessica drank some more, eyes tightly shut as if the visuals would mercifully stop or slow down. Sleep beckoned. Exhaustion made movement sluggish. Whiskey made thinking disjointed. Combined, they allowed Jessica to fall into oblivion where only specters hid in the shadows like stars in the galaxy.

 §

Malcolm swept up glass, bagged trash, pulled furniture upright, and answered Jessica’s cell phone. So far, there were a dozen or more new clients waiting for the services of the passed out woman in the other room. He heard a thump then rolling sound. Quietly he opened the bedroom door just in time to watch a wet trail chase the bottle of whiskey as it moved across the wood floor. He heaved a resigned breath. There was a dishtowel in the kitchen although he couldn’t reconcile it’s domesticity in relation to its owner. More than likely its existence had been provided for by Trish. Malcolm bent down on hands and knees and soaked up the alcohol then carefully set the bottle on the nightstand. His eyes drifted toward the bed, resting on black tresses. Jessica was restless, fingertips twitching, chest beginning to rise and fall in rapid succession. He set the towel on a nearby dresser. There was always a fear of being too physically close to Jessica. Malcolm bit his lower lip, the chapped skin sticking behind his front teeth. Definitely not touchy-feely and freakishly strong, she could bring peril to most people. Add a drunken stupor and PTSD, only a dumbass would approach her up close. Malcolm rolled his shoulders, cracked his knuckles. He couldn’t subdue the urge to bring aid, to comfort, to do good. What his next actions would bring was a tossup but the hope for better drove him. Slowly he came closer until his knees skimmed the bedspread. Throat dry with anxiety, he tried to gulp it down. His blood raced through his body like Paul Revere galloping through the darkness. Carefully he extended his hand to touch her shoulder.

                “Jessica.”

                When she didn’t stir, Malcolm cleared his throat and injected some strength into his voice, repeating her name just as his fingers softly landed upon her skin. There was a split second when he felt like he was weightless. Until he crashed into wall, barely missing a piece of furniture.

                “Oh, shit!” Jessica rasped, slightly disoriented, eyes wild. She flopped out of the bed landing with a thud on the floor, the bedspread halfway following her. “Malcolm! Oh, shit, I didn’t…” Panicked, she crab-walked toward his curled up body. Somewhere beneath the sound of her pounding heart Jessica heard his tiny whimpers. A small waterfall of relief soothed her worst fear.

                With more tenderness than a handful of people had ever witnessed, she turned him over onto his back and checked his limbs.

                “What the hell, Malcolm!”

                His eyes slowly blinked open as he grimaced, straightening out one of his legs. “You should really brush your teeth.”

                Jessica frowned and sat back. The tangled black mess on top of her head gave way to snarled tresses that stuck out at irregular intervals. “Obviously I didn’t throw you hard enough.”

                When he tried to sit up, Malcolm winced, hand immediately going to his lower back.

                “Are you hurt?”

                “That’s rhetorical right?”

                Jessica rolled her eyes as she stood and tried to run her fingers through her hair. When that didn’t work, she merely tried palming it down and getting it out of her face.

                “Can you stand?”

                “Yeah…just help me— _gently_.”

                “How long have I been asleep?”

                Before answering, Malcolm stiffly twisted his torso, flexed his muscles. “A couple of hours.”

                Jessica nodded. Her eyes studied Malcolm’s movements, alert to any abrupt change in his facial expressions and breathing. When nothing indicated his was injured beyond bruises, she went in search of her phone. It was charging on the desk, red light blinking. Dread filled her.

                “There are a lot of people who need help, Jessica. I’ve scheduled some appointments for tomorrow.” She scowled but he pushed through with what needed to be said. “Just listen to them. You don’t have to take the jobs if you don’t want to.”

                “How else do you think I’m gonna pay the rent?” Impatient, she flicked a finger across the phone screen.

                There was a text from Trish and two from Jeri plus a handful of voicemails which she dismissed. Nothing from Luke, not that she expected anything. Still, the pain of it twisted in her chest. Part of her wanted to crawl back into bed and the bottle. The other wanted to set things right. She wavered, indecision causing her to stare at the phone.

                “Is everything okay?”

                “I can’t believe that mind-controlling asshole is really dead.”

                “I can’t believe they let you go. I mean, you did snap the guy’s neck.”

                Jessica shrugged. “I guess it pays to have a shark for a defense attorney.”

                “How…how is she?”

                The compassion in Malcolm’s stare exasperated Jessica. “It’s not like Jeri Hogarth deserves you feeling sorry for her, Malcolm. She made a deal with the devil. What did she expect?”

                “Don’t tell me you wouldn’t have teamed up with him if you could have controlled his sociopathic impulses!”

                Jessica’s eyes flashed in warning. She sneered, “We could have saved a lot of people.”

                “You guys could have _stopped_ a lot of people from doing bad things. That’s a lot different than _saving_ people. Mind control is coercion.”

                “I’ve gotta go.”

                Malcolm’s next words fell from his lips in small, empty puffs. Without another glance or word, Jessica left. His eyes fixed on the front door’s broken glass. It was pretty unlikely she was ever going to change and the hard truth of that sunk inside him like a rock. Sighing, Malcolm decided he may as well be useful. Jessica sure as hell wasn’t going to clean the place up.

§

 

 

She didn’t know where she was headed, didn’t really care. Wherever her feet took her. It felt like furry caterpillars had taken up residence in her mouth, turning it into their own personal toilet. Hair in matted tangles, breath sour enough to curdle cream, Jessica knew she should have cleaned up but Malcolm’s humanitarian compulsions were just too much to handle in the aftermath. It was finally over. Kilgrave was dead, at least for the moment. He had come back once. She had never known him not to have a contingency plan or several for that matter. The paranoia got to her. After months of failing to save the anyone from his grasp, Jessica couldn’t quite believe there wouldn’t be more victims. Guilt no longer gnawed on the bones of her conscience—Kilgrave was the one that forced those unwilling people—yet everyone around her got hurt. What kind of ‘hero’ was she?

                It was getting colder. Jessica stopped at a corner and looked up before leaving the curb. Not that it mattered if a car ran into her. Just the other day a food truck had sent her flying twenty feet when she followed a man that looked like Kilgrave: pointy dress shoes, pleated trousers, a purple jacket and short brown hair. She had been awake for over a day, on a quest to visit every morgue in the city to look for clues when she spotted the man. It never occurred to her to look both ways before crossing the street after him. Shaken and bruised, she managed to stand up and leave before the police arrived. The ability to resist physical injury was another ‘quirk’ of the ‘gift’ which, unfortunately, didn’t translate into the absence of pain. The recovery rate, however, would be like light travel.  

                The street was deserted, lined with parked vehicles. She kept her feet moving, arms crossed over her small breasts. Steam rose from the gutter grates. It smelled of garbage and exhaust. A movement off in the distance to the right captured her attention. Jessica lifted her chin, eyes scanning up ahead. Two men, bundled in army jackets and knit caps were rapidly walking toward her. They could have been two guys out for a beer, meeting their wives or girlfriends, coming home from work but her body was on alert. She didn’t fear normal people, no matter how big. Yet she had never been shot point-blank and wasn’t particularly interested in testing just how well her body would tolerate it. If they wanted to rob her, even with a gun, Jessica wasn’t overly concerned. They would pause long enough to tell her to hand over a wallet which was long enough to disarm them. Shoulders hunched against the icy wind, scarf tails fanning behind her, Jessica kept her eyes up. They were ten feet away. Eight. Five.

                Then, mercifully, past her. She resisted the urge to look back right away. Ears straining for the sound of rapid footsteps, body taut and ready, Jessica casually looked over her shoulder. The two men disappeared around the corner. Jessica walked on, aimlessly. She pulled the hoodie more tightly around her face, rewrapped the scarf around her neck. Traffic sounds got louder. The air changed, not as cutting but still chilly. She was in a small pocket of the city, shielded from the frigid wind by structures of varying stories. Trish’s building was a block away. It wasn’t surprising Jessica’s subconscious led her in that direction. Finally, a destination revealed itself and Jessica hurried her steps, suddenly eager.

                The doorman nodded to her as she stepped through the revolving door. It was warm inside the building. Jessica hadn’t known exactly how cold she was until she was no longer outside. With impatience, she slipped the hoodie from her head, assuming her appearance suggested homelessness. After all, she hadn’t even bothered to wash her face. God knows what was still clinging to her skin after the last twenty-four hours. While riding up the elevator Jessica decided she’d take a shower at Trish’s, maybe ask her best friend to cook something. She stood in front of Trish’s door, rapping her knuckles against it. A soft click announced she had unlocked the door.

                Trish grabbed her arm and gently pulled her into the apartment, locking the metal door and checking the video screen that showed the foyer.

                “Jesus, have you slept at all?”

                Jessica sloughed off her friend’s hold then walked down the hallway, intent upon reaching the refrigerator. “Do you have anything to eat in here?”

                Trish rolled her eyes and leaned against the kitchen counter. “What do you think?”

                “I need something to drink.”

                “There’s a bottle of bourbon in the cabinet above the fridge.”

                Jessica turned, concern in her eyes. “Why do you have that here?”

                “For you. I’m still clean.” Trish shrugged then began to get out the stuff to make a peanut butter sandwich.

                Bottle already opened and tilted, Jessica watched her friend with one eye. When she wiped her mouth, she asked, “Has your boyfriend called?”

                Without looking up, the blonde answered, “I told you he’s not my boyfriend.”

                “I didn’t mean—I’m sorry, Trish.”

                “I’ve got some more information about IGH.”

                Grudgingly Jessica accepted the sandwich, shoved nearly half of it into her mouth. One cheek bulging with a wad of bread, she asked, “Where are you getting all this information about this dummy corporation?”

                Something dark flitted across Trish’s face like a cockroach across linoleum once the light was turned on. Jessica’s eyes narrowed but she couldn’t voice the question whispering in her head. She knew better than anyone that some secrets should never be revealed. In any case, Trish ignored that question and opted to answer the other one.

                “I don’t expect Simpson will contact me again.”

                Thoughts of Luke popped into her head. “Yeah there’s a lot of that going around.”

                The faint, crooked smile on Trish’s lips wasn’t formed from humor as much as kinship. “Anyway, IGH is a dead end so far. These invoices don’t list a method of payment. There’s a letterhead but it’s not a registered trademark—at least that I can find. Fake address and telephone number, no webpage, no individual signatures on any of the forms either.”

                “Your resolve is a little scary, you know.”

                Trish smiled.

                Popping the last of the sandwich into her mouth, Jessica walked into the living room and sank down onto the plush couch.

                “Luke will come back.”

                She would have given anything not to have heard Trish utter those words because there was no good reason for him to return. The hope swelling in her throat was false, capable of hurting Jessica. Slowly she blinked.

                “That’s history.”

                “If you say so.” Trish didn’t sound in the least bit convinced but she knew there was no advantage to be gained pushing Jessica further. The last thing she wanted to do was exert more pressure on her adopted sister’s wound.

                “Do you want to sleep here tonight? I don’t imagine you had time to fix up your apartment.”

                Jessica took another swig from the bottle, more of a taste. “Malcolm’s been playing housewife.”

                “Lucky you.”

                “Trish…I’m sorry you had to go through that with Kilgrave.”

                “Which part?”

                Jessica sighed, setting the bottle down on the coffee table. “When he—when I…when I let him kiss you.”

                They were both quiet for a minute, the memory like a block of ice between them. Trish shifted from one foot to the other.

                “It was the only way to convince him that his power worked on you.”

                “Doesn’t make me feel any better.”

                Trish sat down next to her and gently took Jessica’s hand within the two of hers. “If you hadn’t allowed it, he would have kept making people do horrible things.”

                Tears sprang to Jessica’s dark eyes but didn’t fall. They would never fall.

                Trish scooted closer. Her voice was soft, expression tender when she said, “You did the right thing, Jess.”

                Swallowing the hard lump in her throat, the brunette remained silent. It was a long time before either one of them spoke again.

§

It wasn’t even morning before Jessica came awake. So much for a restful sleep. A light sheen of sweat covered her skin, gathering in the creases and hollows.   Her heart was beating as fast as the snare in a marching band during a bowl parade. Crusty from too little sleep, her eyelids reluctantly opened. Maybe she cried in her sleep. She hoped not. Trish had covered her with a blanket. Without regard, Jessica tossed it off as she swung her legs over and planted her bare feet on the floor. Using the heels of her hands, she scrubbed at her eyes in an attempt to separate the lashes. Behind her, the sliding glass doors gave way to a rectangular balcony. The drapes were pulled back, permitting Jessica a beautiful view of the city had she cared to turn around. Of course, she hadn’t cared. Instead she shuffled into the bathroom, stripped then turned on the shower. She was so dirty even her hair was crunchy. The water temperature was as hot as she could stand which, given her unique abilities, was really damn hot. Trish kept the guest bathroom stocked with citrus scented toiletries, a recent obsession that Jessica rather liked but wouldn’t admit. She took her time, allowing the heat to penetrate, to cleanse. Twice she washed her long hair, indifferent to the rusty color swirling in the drain. Since her scalp didn’t hurt anywhere in particular, she had to assume someone had soiled her with their blood. As she lathered the lemon scented soap between her palms, Jessica supposed her hair had fallen victim to the crazy riot Kilgrave incited just before she broke his neck. No one survived unscathed.

                A clean change of clothes hadn’t occurred to her when she exited the shower. Wrapping herself in a huge towel that felt like a soft cloud, Jessica looked down on the tiled floor where her ratty jeans and top formed a misshaped pyramid. For the first time in a while she wasn’t in a hurry to go somewhere, talk to someone. The luxury of that settled over her. There was no way Jessica was going to put those filthy clothes back onto her clean body. She decided to raid her sister’s closet but, first, she checked the laundry room. If Trish had something appropriate in the dryer, there was no need for Jessica to risk waking her. Besides, it was a little fun to steal her sister’s clothing. Permission was overrated. Luckily, she found a pair of skinny jeans and a sweatshirt in the dryer. More investigation revealed some cotton socks, inverted into tight little balls, inside a laundry basket. Not blessed with Marilyn Monroe cleavage, Jessica didn’t worry about a bra. As far as panties, they didn’t really matter either.

                Sleep was always elusive although she had to admit that she slept hard tonight. Already she was eighty percent back to normal. By the couch, one of her boots stood at attention while the other had toppled over like a drunken sailor on leave. Unceremoniously Jessica tugged them on then checked her phone.

**_I need you to dig up some dirt on Warren J. Foster ASAP~Jeri_ **

Something about the name was familiar. Jessica squinted into the darkness as she secured her hair in a ponytail. Confident she would figure it out quickly enough and it wasn’t all that important anyway, she turned her attention to other things. Jeri was a client, a cold loathsome one that didn’t, as far as Jessica could tell, have many lines she hadn’t crossed. She was the best defense attorney in the city but it was hard to tell how she came by it. Was she naturally born shark or did the job, by its very nature, change Jeri? In the end Jessica granted the answer didn’t matter. She had learned how deep Jeri’s need to win ran when the woman made a deal with Kilgrave. Jeri would free him from the hermetically sealed chamber Jessica had managed to get him in, take him to her wife’s townhouse and Kilgrave would make her sign the divorce papers. Kilgrave, forever self-interested, instead decided to renege for which Jeri paid dearly.  

                Jessica mentally shoved aside the thoughts. Everyone had problems. She had enough of her own to figure out. Like checking her bank account to see if Jeri’s firm had deposited the money for serving some asshole process papers, hiring a handyman to repair the drywall in her apartment/office, and paying the rent before the landlord stored all her things in the basement. Not to mention…client appointments.


	2. AKA Blinky Blink People

When Jessica exited the elevator onto her floor, she couldn’t help but notice the taped cardboard covering about half her apartment-office door, presumably one of Malcolm’s good deeds. He had even gone as far as removing the jagged pieces of glass stubbornly clinging to the window frame. Inserting her key, Jessica looked back over her shoulder down the hall and sent a silent, sincere thank you to him. The apartment was clean and tidy which caused an uncomfortable trickle of guilt. Left up to her, the mess would have remained until such a time its removal climbed higher in the priority of ‘things to do’. She didn’t deserve Malcolm’s unexpected devotion and didn’t quite know what to do with it but Jessica knew she could start by saying thank you. The apartment looked move-in clean except for the gaping holes in the walls and broken furniture pieces by the entryway. Not that that was impressive given the building’s general standards but it was definitely better than how she had left it. Jessica was just about to log onto the internet when she heard someone cough outside the door. Intent upon confrontation because lurkers tended to elicit that type of response from her, she went to see who it was.

                Yanking open the warped door, Jessica snapped, “Is there something you want?”

                A very large effeminate man stood in her doorway, quickly blinking several times. His brown eyes, magnified behind coke-bottle glasses, regarded her in a bird-like way. Jessica drew her eyebrows down lower.

                “Is this Alias Investigations?”

                She gestured to the door and muttered, “That’s what the sign says, doesn’t it?”

                The man replied, “There is no sign.” _Blink-blink-blink._

                Sarcasm heavy on her tongue, she nevertheless forced it down, keenly aware she wasn’t so successful she could pass up jobs standing on her doorstep. “What can I do for you?” Jessica stood back, hand on the doorknob, and waited for him to cross the threshold.

                “My name is Yancy Price.”

                When he still hadn’t entered the apartment, Jessica tried not to grind her teeth. She left the myopic man where he stood, talking over her shoulder as she walked to the desk, “Are you going—“

                Then, from the hallway and getting nearer, they heard a voice announce, “Mr. Price, my name’s Malcolm. We spoke on the phone.”

                Jessica’s frown deepened, patience already wiggling free, but she had to admit she was curious to see where, exactly, Malcolm’s timely arrival was going to take the situation. Her eyes followed the men as Malcolm led the way into the apartment’s interior, turning back several times to maintain a steady stream of chatter.

                “Mr. Price, “ Malcolm said, demeanor hinting at professionalism. “Can I get you some water?”

                Jessica’s eyebrows suddenly shot up, her lips parted but Malcolm quieted her with a slightly desperate, mute plea. There was the promise of retribution in the glower he received but, otherwise, she permitted things to unfold under Malcolm’s direction.

                “No.”

                “This is Ms. Jones, head of Alias Investigations.”

                Rolling her eyes, Jessica merely nodded.

                Mr. Price looked around the room then down at the narrow chair. He was standing behind it, pudgy fingers skimming the backrest, neither by word nor deed revealing an inclination. Malcolm, with a flick of his wrist, indicated Mr. Price should take a seat. The man, other than blinking a few times in rapid succession, evinced no other outward sign that he understood Malcom’s gesture. On the verge of temper, Jessica was tempted to undo all the work Malcolm had accomplished to the apartment and for public relations. An awkward silence fell onto the group, feeling like ill-fitted clothes, until, finally, comprehension dawned on Malcolm’s face.

                “ _Oh_ - _ooooooh-_ uhm, why don’t we sit on the couch.”

                Jessica clenched her teeth. Before she completely went mad, she rose and followed them across the room. At the moment it was a close call which Malcolm, the sober do-gooder or the drug zombie, Jessica preferred. Both tended to irritate her but, buried beneath the bluster, she realized a softness for him had always been present. She immediately wanted to deny it but Malcolm was looking at her like she could make a difference, like she was the only one that could help Yancy Price. She wanted to scoff, berate Malcolm for his naivety. Her dark eyes took in Yancy’s predictable appearance, the wrinkled off-white linen suit and lavender silk shirt opened at the throat. It was debatable whether or not she could help with his wardrobe but if Yancy Price wanted her to find something, Malcolm’s faith in her was motivation enough. Jessica wondered why she hadn’t seen the similarities to Truman Capote before then. Had Yancy spoken with a lisp she would have gone to Luke’s bar…and, then, her thoughts simply stopped. Luke’s bar was nothing more than a burned out shell now. It replayed in her head, the explosion, how his “gift” of impregnable skin allowed him to navigate untouched through the flames and debris, how painfully sweet the rush of relief swept through her body.

                “Jessica?”

                Malcolm’s interruption dissipated the whorls of fog in her brain. Annoyed she had been so easily distracted, Jessica returned back to the present, none the happier, the hard set of her jawline a customary forecast.

                She asked with stern disapproval, “Again, Mr. Price, is there something I can do for you?”

                The man steepled his kolache fingers, nictating eyes seeming more like a nervous condition and less like a contrivance the more time spent in his company. Regardless, Jessica was about to nix the entire thing, but chanced to a look at Malcolm who was looking back at her with soft doe-like eyes.

                “I would like to hire you, of course.” Yancy Price slowly enunciated, each word punctuating the silence like a deep-throated gong.

                As soon as the question left her mouth, Jessica steeled herself against the answer. “To do what exactly?”

                “To investigate.”

                Halfway out of her chair and hands planted flat on the desk were all the signs Malcolm needed to intercede. Before Jessica broke into a tirade, he interjected, “Well, _of course_ , Mr. Price. The name on the door _is_ Alias _Investigations_.”

                “There’s no sign on the door.”

                With a stifled curse Jessica dropped back down onto the chair, fingers tunneling into long black strands of hair, nails scraping the scalp in frustration. She looked at Malcolm, the command and anger in her glare too naked to ignore. Two options were left for her as far as she was concerned, one being to kick Yancy Price’s ass and the other being to kick Malcolm’s ass, both equally attractive at this point. Neither of which addressed the bigger picture. Unequipped to deal with such a client as Yancy Price and well she knew it, Jessica nodded to Malcolm, promising herself to remain calm and silent.

                “Yes. We are in the process of having that repaired. What can we investigate for you, Mr. Price?”

                “My… _business_ partner.”

                Jessica looked up at the ceiling, silently begging the universe to make it fall down upon her. As the seconds ticked by, the inclination to take the job limped into the territory of hell-no despite the promises she made just seconds ago. Yancy Price was enough to drive her over the edge, making her question the decision to try her hand at a legitimate business. It would be easier to be an assassin for hire or a global mercenary battling invisible aliens in the jungle than deal with someone like him. Despite how meager her needs were, they still required to be met and for that the possession of some money was essential. Jessica silently prayed.

                Malcolm, once again, took control of the conversation. “Are we talking video surveillance or just photos? Can you be more specific?”

                “What services do you offer?” _Blink. Blink. Blink._

                Finally, Malcolm’s fortitude seemed to be waning. The corners of his mouth stopped tipping upward. No longer round empathetic portals, his eyes narrowed with ill-humor. The sight almost made Jessica forgive him for bringing such a person into their midst.

                Malcolm tried one more time. “Why don’t you start at the beginning?”

                Yancy Price nodded once, adjusted himself on the couch, then pinched some of the fabric stretched across his knee. “Three months ago Bob tossed a piece of crumbled up paper into my trash bin.”

                Silence heightened the sense of utter disbelief emanating from Jessica and Malcolm. Whatever tenuous holds she had placed to keep emotion from flash flooding all over rationale simply loosened like a negligent shoe lace. Not waiting for more of Yancy Price’s special brand of torture, Jessica advanced upon him. She shoved aside the desk as if it were made of balsa wood, inadvertently sending it in groaning protest across the wood floor. Now nothing separated her from the object of her displeasure. Unconcerned with such a display of strength and what Yancy Price would make of it, Jessica wasn’t one to hide or explain. Malcolm jumped up between them, ever the peacemaker, but he wasn’t fast enough to effectively keep Jessica back.

                Looming over the placid man, she ground out, “You’re like some fucked up comic book villain sent to drive me crazy! I swear to God, if you don’t stop fuckin’ blinking right now…! What the hell is it with your eyes anyway? That shit’s medical.”

                _Blink. Blink. Blink._ “I’m a businessman who needs you to investigate his business partner.”

                Cutting Malcolm off from voicing an opinion with an extended arm in his vicinity, Jessica directed her words to the unfortunate Mr. Price. “Whatever land you come from, just go back. You’ll be much happier with the other blinky-blink people.”

                “Will you take my case, Miss Jones?”

                Somewhere words hovered but Jessica’s brain could not corral them and line them up into an articulate sentence. The fight eased out of her. Yancy Price was one persistent and focused individual, characteristics she often admired in people who weren’t sent from the universe to test her. Round one to Yancy Price, king of the myopic Truman Compote Look-alikes.

                Quietly, Jessica instructed, “You will give Malcolm the necessary details. I will leave before I throw you across the room. And Malcolm…” Jessica straightened, eyes zeroing in on him like lasers. “…you will get _everything_ I need to do the job no matter _how long it takes_. I don’t expect to see this guy again.”

                Malcolm’s head bobbed a few times then his shoulders sagged. Eyes downcast, feet shuffling a little, he mumbled, “What…”  Before he spoke again, he took a breath, licked his lips then looked up. “What about your other appointments?”

                “How many did you make?” A small tic developed in her right eye.

                Meekly Malcolm replied, “Three.”

                “Then you meet with them. Get all the details. There’s some forms in the desk. _Contractual forms_. It all should be pretty straight forward. _Now I’m leaving._ ” 

§

Weary and wired, Jessica couldn’t help herself, allowed the subconscious to dictate where her feet stepped. There wasn’t a particular destination in mind. She just felt the need to move, to get far away. Sometimes it helped, roaming the city, chin tucked against the cold wind, hands deep in the pockets of her favorite jacket. Merely another body among bodies moving here and there, Jessica was left alone. Such freedom was quickly becoming curtailed, in no small way by the word-of-mouth recommendations from people who had been unwilling participants in the battle between she and Kilgrave. When she killed Kilgrave, she broke the mental bond, thus freeing them from servitude. Opinions within the group varied about what happened, but everyone agreed Jessica’s actions saved them. It became known she was a private investigator and through the grapevine it was carried to all those in need of such services. With cases beginning to accrue, Jessica couldn’t help but wonder if walking the streets to clear her head would become a thing of the past. The decision, happily enough, didn’t need to be considered any time soon. Besides, she was the captain of the ship, deciding where and when it should sail.

                It didn’t take long before she was standing and shivering on the corner where Luke’s bar had been. Deep in thought, she had looked up to cross the street, then realized the direction her feet had taken. Not so long ago, she had been welcome there but now plywood boards were nailed to the burned out windows. A rusted bare metal door replaced the original wooden ones. All the shattered glass had been swept away, ash and embers long ago carried off by the wind. Now merely a skeleton, charred but standing, the bar was the only thing Luke had left behind…besides her. He had left her. Although, to be honest, no promises had been made. They understood things about each other. Perhaps, had he stayed, it could have turned into something resembling love. Jessica felt her body curve into itself, the pain like a corkscrew inserted into a soft vulnerable place. Tears wouldn’t come. Anger wasn’t so shy.

                She didn’t have time nor the stamina to be emotional, to indulge in a star-crossed lovers’ scenario while freezing her ass off on a street corner. Her hard gaze once more fastened on the burnt remains of what once was but all she saw was a damaged building. Jessica walked on. Ever since the accident that killed her family and severely injured her, Jessica’s life had jumped onto the crazy train. The adoption by Trish’s mother and instantly gaining another sibling who happened to be a famous child star were hard enough for a grieving girl to understand. To crank it up a notch, not much long after, she realized she had inhuman strength…then the wild teenage years…followed by Post Traumatic Stress and Kilgrave 1 &2\. To cope, Jessica turned to alcohol but was bitterly disappointed when her ambition to reach oblivion was never fulfilled. Evidently, because of her ‘gift’, it was impossible for her to drink herself into forgetfulness, although, she wasn’t about to stop trying.

Luke’s defection, in comparison, was the very least of her problems. Luke was gone.  It had been…liberating, matching their unique attributes in the bedroom. A hard wrenching sensation filled her chest. Things were no longer the same. She would learn to cope. When needed, for now on she would get her comfort as she had in the past with nameless, faceless encounters as if Luke had never happened. Anything more would be a waste of time.

                Feeling hollow but determined, Jessica headed down the street. She didn’t get far before her phone went off. It was Malcolm texting her that she was needed back at the office. Jessica heaved in a huge breath of air, closing her eyes. Life didn’t stop coming at her just because she was a little (or a lot) fucked up. Yancy Price was proving to be quite an irritant given that Malcolm was already sending out an S.O.S. Resigned, Jessica looked around for a taxi.

§

Surprisingly, the workers were replacing the glass in the front door when she arrived. The father-son team hadn’t instilled much confidence in Jessica but they were the cheapest and she didn’t have much choice anyway. Until she caught up on her bills, which was questionable if people kept demolishing her apartment, frugal living seemed to be a practical compromise. Jessica sidestepped the congestion in the doorway, expecting to see the rotund Yancy Price perched on the couch and Malcom halfway bald from ripping his hair out. What she found instead caused a ripple of unease to travel down her spine. Mr. Price was at the sink, casually stirring the contents of a coffee cup. As for Malcolm, he was supine on the couch with a cloth over his eyes.

                “I always carry tea.”

                His unsolicited statement didn’t answer the first several questions that came to her mind. She hurried to the sofa, pressing two fingers to Malcolm’s throat, entirely unsure if she had the right spot or not but jabbing just the same.

                “Are you trying to kill me?” Malcolm moaned, one hand fluttering upward to ward off Jessica’s ministrations.

                “Not especially.”

                “I don’t even want to know what your mouth-to-mouth is like.”

                Jessica suppressed an exasperated sigh. “What’s wrong?”

                “Migraine.”

                Snatching off the compress and ignoring Malcolm’s whimper, Jessica headed to the sink. Mr. Price was still standing in front of it.

                “Why are you still here?” The belligerence in the question was only moderated by its soft delivery in deference to Malcolm’s condition.

                Preoccupied with frustration, she jerked on the faucet, unintentionally snapping it off. In a maneuver quite unlikely for one toting such girth, Mr. Price avoided the pressurized spray. Between the commotion and her robust curses, Malcolm had risen, determined to wobble toward them with hands on either side of his head.

                “Stop touching things.” Malcolm whined as he entered the melee. Once he was able to nudge Jessica aside he carefully bent to open the cabinet door then squatted in front of it. The water abruptly stopped spewing.

                “My father say he know a guy that can fix that for you.” The grizzled looking Serbian man yelled from the living room.

                Mr. Price, standing on the outskirts and as dry as when he first darkened their door, said, “You’re very strong.”

               “My dad is Wolverine.”

_Blink. Blink. Blink._

               Some days Jessica wondered why she didn’t go all Sharknado on people. A groan escaped Malcolm as he careened off into the living room, presumably to conduct a little business with the father and son team fixing her door. _Blink. Blink. Blink._ Half-drenched, Jessica began to strip, undaunted by the sudden nervous vibe Mr. Price was emitting. She brushed past him, smirking, to the dresser, eager to locate another t-shirt. Something mean caught hold of Jessica then and before she could talk herself out of it, she slowly slipped off her bra, presenting her naked back to Mr. Price. Demurely she looked over her shoulder. _Blink-blink-blink-blinnnnnnnk_. Satisfied she had his attention, Jessica faced the dresser, slowly twisting her shoulders and back as if to stretch. She half-turned, knowing the soft underside of her breast was on display under the protective shelter of her arm. It was the little things in life that made it worth living.

              “Pardon me.” Mr. Price squeaked. His obvious distress nearly caused her a millisecond of pity. Thereupon she remembered why she was soaked and why Malcolm had been prostrate on the couch.

              The game no longer appealing, Jessica dropped the pseudo-seduction and got dressed. It wasn’t much of a challenge in any event. As much as she wanted to payback Mr. Price for all the aggravation he incited, kicking him out was more desirable, potential fee be damned. Furthermore, Jessica was quite certain she wasn’t Yancy Price’s cup of tea.

              “I’ve tried to give your assistant the particulars but he’s ill.”

              “I won’t be taking your case, Mr. Price.”

              “Oh, no, Miss Jones, you can’t do that.”

              Jessica pushed back the damp strands of hair clinging to her face. “Door’s that way.”

              “Please. You come very highly recommended.”

              “Yeah, that’s nice.”

              “But—“

              “No ‘buts’, Price.” Jessica snapped, getting into his personal space. “Fly! Be free! Just get the fuck away from me.”

              “But Luke said you could help.”

              His name on someone else’s lips felt like betrayal. “Luke who.” she muttered flatly, not really asking.

              “Luke Cage.”

              The temptation arced through her. One question would lead her down the proverbial rabbit’s hole, assuming Mr. Price’s answers revealed anything of use. Even if they didn’t, her newborn resolve was too weak to withstand the damage such a choice would demand. Jessica harbored no doubt she could find Luke. It was the second _after_ she found him that she mightily doubted.

              “Well, someone lied to you, Mr. Price. Don’t let the door hit you in the ass on your way out—I can’t afford to have it fixed again.”

              “It seems we can help each other.” When Jessica didn’t answer, he whispered, “Please.”

              That one word was the bane of her existence. It had the power to override her common sense and good judgement. ‘Please’ was her own personal kryptonite. Spoken earnestly, there was nothing else like it. Jessica inwardly gave in knowing she would regret it, probably sooner than later.

              Yancy Price stayed another two hours. In that time the door had been repaired and paid for, a name had been procured to fix the sink via the Serbian duo, two appointments had been pushed back and the other one rescheduled for the next day, not to mention she obtained everything— _everything—_ she needed to handle Mr. Price’s case. Once Malcolm recovered, Jessica was going to make his life hell. She ignored another text from Jeri Hogarth about Warren J. Foster but decided to do a little research on the computer.

              Jessica leaned back in the chair, putting her feet up on the desk as she balanced the laptop on the tops of her thighs. Malcolm had long ago stumbled home, weakly apologizing. There was a little time to do some internet work before the next appointment was due to arrive. Jessica forewent Jeri’s request because it would probably be a time-Hoover. Yancy Price, however, co-owned an upscale bakery with his Ecuadorian lothario partner Guillermo. Two months ago Guillermo vanished, presumably taking all the company’s cash with him. On the surface it was an easy enough case, rather anticlimactic thanks to Mr. Price’s vexing behavior. Jessica knew a guy who could hack into Guillermo’s email account and that was as good a starting point as any. She dashed off a cryptic email, proposing a time and place to meet that night. It couldn’t hurt to do a background check on Guillermo, at least the garden-variety kind found on an internet site. She also requested one for Warren J. Foster just for the hell of it. Chances were low anyone Jeri associated with would leave those types of tracks but for all Jessica knew, Warren J. was a millionaire’s dumbass progeny who had a chip of entitlement on his shoulder. Easy money if it were true.

             One glance at the clock when she heard the knock at the door confirmed that the next potential client had arrived. Sighing, Jessica set the laptop down on the desk then stood. Legs a little stiff, she didn’t make it to the door before the second impatient knock. Mindful of the door because to snatch it off its hinges and toss it across the floor would only mean another visit from the Serbians and another fantastic bill, Jessica gently turned the knob.

              “Is this Alias Investigations? Because there isn’t a sign and the man on the phone gave me this address.”

              To say the woman didn’t breathe between words would not be an exaggeration. Jessica stepped aside and motioned for the woman to enter, trying very hard to force her lips into something resembling a smile.

              “Do you have anything to drink? I had to switch trains three times to get here. I’m telling you, I’ve been here for over twenty years and I still aint used to those subways or the people who ride them. All types of criminals and bad influences. I’m not saying just cause somebody got baggy pants, he’s a thug but…”

              The woman made herself comfortable in the kitchen, looking through Jessica’s cabinets and prattling away as if they were old friends. There was absolutely no reason to think the day would improve after Yancy Price but Jessica had held out a slim hope which gently died with the strange woman’s appearance. Accepting the current situation, Jessica sat at her desk and resumed working on the computer. After a few minutes the aroma of coffee reached her which was surprising since she couldn’t remember the last time she bought any.

              “My name is Mary Agnes Lehmann and I think my husband is cheating on me _again_ , if you can believe that. Now, men are men, and my Viktor is a drinker so I aint here to complain, you understand. I’ve made my bed and like my momma told me I’m fixin’ to _lie_ in _it_.”

              “Mary…?”

              “Mary Agnes.” She took a tentative sip from the mug. “If you don’t mind my sayin’, this coffee’s a bit long in the tooth! No tellin’ what all it’d taste like if you hadn’t put it in the freezer.” At Jessica’s puzzled expression, Mary Agnes explained, “It’s a sayin’ back home. Means it’s old, honey. I don’t know why but every time I hear that expression I think of Bugs Bunny. Who couldn’t, I guess, bein’ as how his teeth _are_ long.”

              “Your husband? Viktor? You want me to find out if he’s…cheating?” Each word left Jessica’s mouth reluctantly, painfully.

              “Yes, yes I would. I need me some of those pictures—I don’t know what all they’re called but you take ‘em at night, you see, and well…there you go.” When Jessica looked dumbfounded, Mary Agnes went on. “Honey, you’re a little slow, aren’t yah? Now, I’m not prejudice. We’re all God’s creatures, like my daddy used to preach…”

               Jessica thumped her forehead against the desktop. “Oh dear god.”

               “Honey, you keep doin’ that and you’re gonna get a headache or bruise that pretty little head of yours. Maybe both.”

               “I really hope my brains will leak out.”

               Mary Agnes paused which invited Jessica to look up. “You’re an odd one, aren’t yah?”


	3. AKA You Not Regular

**_AKA You not regular!_ **

 

The second time Jessica left the room, Mary Agnes Lehmann kept on talking, her voice a pitch higher without sacrificing velocity. When Jessica called out she’d be right back, the older woman simply nodded then disappeared into the kitchen. The Serbian duo did a good job on the door as far as she could tell, if opening then closing it behind her was any indication. Outside Malcolm’s apartment she hesitated but decided to knock in hopes he had recovered enough to deal with Mary Agnes.

                “Tell me you feel better.”

                Yawning, he rubbed a knuckle into one eye. “A little—“

                “Come on.” She grabbed the front of his thin shirt and used the hold to drag him into the hallway. “I’ve got shit to do. Mary Agnes—what the hell, man? Did you even screen the fucking calls?”

                Dazed and struggling to understand, he weakly protested but Jessica kept pulling him along.

                “Hold on, wait a minute, wait, wait… _wait_!”

                The incessant plea was enough to slow Jessica’s progress. They stood in front of her door, her fist bunching up the center of his faded t-shirt. Not much at this point could dissuade Jessica from tossing him into the apartment with Mary Agnes and slamming the door shut.

                “What!”

                Malcolm gently unclutched her fingers from his shirt. He tried to smooth out the wrinkles. “I’m not a hundred percent.”

                “Well, what percent you at?”

                Warily he looked at her, biting his lip. After a few more seconds he replied, “Fifty- _forty_. Definitely forty.”

                Her expression left him no room to negotiate. “Okay, okay. But for the record, if she’s _anything_ like Yancy Price I’m going back on drugs.”

                Jessica shrugged. “Then I get to keep your…commission.”

                A small grin trembled upon his lips only to quickly be replaced by a wince when the pain behind his eyes flared. Recovering, Malcolm said, “Well, what percent _you_ at?”

                “I’m at the _answer-the-damn-phone-again-and-find- out_ percent!”

§

               

The mirror paneled façade of the office building needed some Windex or so Jessica thought as she walked by. People were everywhere, holding phones to their ears while hailing taxis or dodging automobiles as they jaywalked across a street. They ate and talked, never missing a step. Bike couriers sliced through traffic, pedestrian and motorized alike, more terrifying than any delivery van. Tourists gawked, tilting their heads back, amazed, never quite matching the speed of pedestrians in a hurry to go somewhere. They unlocked their smartphones and snapped selfies in front of landmarks, garbage heaps, drug addicts and the occasional street performer. Nothing escaped their bulbous stares as they bounced around like pinballs into bumpers. Jessica expertly dodged them and others. The crowds thinned a little once she reached the building’s lobby. Mostly filled with corporate attired careerists waiting for the mnemonic chimes of open elevator doors, the elevator bay was home to three express cars, eternally crowded during the day. Jessica opted for one of the regular elevators which stopped at every floor until it reached a preordained level. She would have to disembark and hop onto another one to scale higher up in the building, like switching trains on the subway, but she wasn’t really in a hurry to see Jeri.

                Their association had been strictly professional until Kilgrave. They had both been at his mercy yet Jessica, possessing previous experience with him, had known the dangers. Jeri hadn’t been so fortunate. Jessica couldn’t help but feel a certain kinship with her now. There were wounds too dark to be light, too invisible to be seen by anyone who didn’t experience the full measure of Kilgrave’s power. In some ways, Jeri’s encounter was more horrific, certainly more bloody, yet, if anyone was capable of culling such an encounter, Jeri was that person. Their relationship was in flux but there was a patch of common ground between them, albeit rather uncharted. For the time being Jessica let things alone.

                As was her habit, Jessica burst through the reception area of Jeri’s office, dimly noting Pam’s surprised replacement. She wasn’t as quick as Pam but, then, Pam had had plenty of practice in the art of trying to prevent Jessica from barging in without an appointment. When Jessica opened the door, quickly trailed by the receptionist, Jeri calmly murmured a limpid goodbye then disconnected the Bluetooth ear piece.

                “Do you have what I need?” Jeri’s sharp blue eyes looked past Jessica and subtly signaled her assistant.

                “I see you’ve hired a Pam Two.” When Jeri flinched, Jessica sighed. “Too soon?”

                Without further comment, Jeri straightened some papers then stood behind the desk, her demeanor exactly what one would expect from a high-powered successful attorney.

                “Warren J. is squeaky clean on the world wide web.” Jeri didn’t move. Relenting, Jessica explained, “It’s not like you gave me a lot of information. All you gave me is his address and stats.”

                “You’ve gotten me more with less.”

                “Why so interested in one of your own?” When Jeri didn’t answer, Jessica’s mind went into over-drive. There was something about his name in the newspaper… “He’s Pam’s lawyer, isn’t he?” The guess hit its mark. Jeri’s calculated stare flickered like a brief interruption, hardly detectable.

                “I…” When Jeri understood Jessica wasn’t going to allow her any leeway, she said, “…He’s her only chance.”

                “You’re not that altruistic, Jeri. Try again.”

                A faint expulsive breath from Jeri was the only thing to break some of the tension in the room. Although her stature never flagged, resignation softened the edges of her mouth. “I’m going to be called to the stand.”

                “Jesus, you’re pretty self-serving, aren’t you?” It sounded like a reluctant compliment without the sincerity of conviction. “Why do you need me? You’re both sharks. I’m sure you already know his trial record, strategies—“

                “Don’t be obtuse.” The air around Jeri seemed to shimmer with angry minuscule sparks as she swiftly moved around the table to stand directly in front of Jessica. “He’s her _defense lawyer_. I’m her ex-lover. Frost is going to use whatever he can to minimize the damage.” Jeri paused, allowing what she said to sink in. Then she whispered, “I would in his place.”

                “Pam was only trying to stop Wendy. She saved you from being stabbed to death. No jury is going to convict her of murder.”

                “What do you think the state is going to try to prove, Jessica? Do you think they’re just going to allow Pam to walk away? Justifiable homicide still carries a prison term. The District Attorney is going to try this case and he would love nothing more than to see me get disbarred or worse in the process. Just do your job and get me something I can use.”

                “It’s _your god damned_ fault!” Jessica raked her fingers through her hair then pointed an accusatory finger at the other woman. “If you hadn’t given Kilgrave a way to escape when I had him _contained_ —“

                “ _I didn’t know what he was like!”_ It was the first time Jessica could ever recall Jeri having an outburst. A little stunned by the display and the emotion that was even now receding behind the mask, Jessica felt unwanted pangs of unanimity.

                “Fine. If there’s something, I’ll find it but I don’t understand—“

                “Pam already hates me, Jessica. What do you think more time behind bars will do with that hate? Wendy turned into a psycho-vengeful bitch because I cheated and wanted a divorce. She wanted me to pay and pay dearly. Do you really think Pam will be content with serving the minimum if Frost doesn’t get her completely off the hook? “

                “Okay, I get it but the D.A—“

                “You don’t think he’d relish the opportunity to cross-examine me? _I’ve won all my cases_ , Jessica, most of them against the State of New York. They’d love nothing more than to get some comeuppance. They are going to try this case with full barrels loaded and, trust me, they won’t be aiming for a minor conviction, not with my name attached to it.”

                “What are you going to do with the dirt if I dig it up?”

                Jeri relaxed and returned to her seat. “Plant some fucking flowers.”

§

Outside of the building, cold air drawn into her lungs, Jessica suppressed the urge to wash herself clean. The aftermath of dealing with Jeri left her confused, disgusted, and empathetic. Overcome with the entire episode, she thrust it from her mind, hoping it would thereafter remain. She fired off a quick text to her contact, the email hacker, requesting to move up their meeting. Warren J. had risen in priority and the night now belonged to breaking into his home. Wrapping the extra-long scarf more securely around her neck, Jessica walked toward the taxi queue. What she should have done was demand the firm’s town car from Jeri, not a mistake she would make the next time. The ride over to the grungy coffeehouse was uneventful and relatively fast given they drove three miles in lunch hour traffic. Jessica checked her phone but there wasn’t a reply from her contact. The coffeehouse was their preferred meeting place since it was located in the hacker’s neighborhood. He kept nighttime hours and usually slept during the day but Jessica, hoping, walked through the door, eyes scanning the patrons of the little hole-in-the-wall. Of course he wasn’t among them but she slid into a booth and scanned the greasy laminated menu.

                Duct tape, curled and gunky around the ends, covered a crack in the plastic seat cover. She avoided resting her arms upon the table, half-worried the unctuous film would rub off onto her jacket sleeves. The place smelled of submission and gloom, the deep-fried variety that invaded a patron’s clothes. Behind the counter a small woman stood, back curved forward and stringy wisps escaping a black hairnet. She was pinching the end of a homemade cigarette between thumb and forefinger, puffing quickly twice but on the third time, she kept the smoke in. Fascinated, Jessica watched, counting the seconds until the waitress exhaled. In two perfect streams, the smoke was propelled through very large, very misshaped nostrils. A male voice from the back hissed something unintelligible. The waitress didn’t outwardly react, never once broke the puff-puff-hold rhythm of smoking. At any moment Jessica suspected she would smell the scent of marijuana, perhaps mixed with clove-scented or heavy Turkish tobacco. To pass the time until the waitress deemed her break over, Jessica looked out the window to watch the wayfarers go by. Within reach, her phone was easily accessible but woefully silent. The lack of people walking in front of the window had her look elsewhere. Jessica’s eyes slowly drifted across the street. Two men in fatigues and knit caps huddled by a storefront nearly out of her sightline. Something prickled in the back of her mind but the waitress distracted her by talking loudly to the man in the back. Jessica’s attention swung and when it returned to the street, the men were no longer in view.

                “What you have?”

                The woman was much older than she had appeared from several feet away. More than a few gray hairs peeked from under the netting. Wrinkled and moon-shaped, her face was obviously Asian but that’s as far as Jessica could determine.

                “A BLT and coffee.”

                Without turning around, the waitress addressed the unseen cook, yelling out the order, almond eyes steadfast in their perusal of Jessica.

                “You wanna cheeps or fry?” When Jessica didn’t immediately respond, the woman sighed. “You wanna po-tay- _toes_ cheeps or deep fry?”

                “Chips, please.”

                “You not regular.”

                “No.”

                “You been here ‘fore?”

                “It’s been a while.”

                “You not regular.”

                Jessica looked at her phone but it didn’t do anything. “I think we’ve established that already.”

                “You not reg-uuuu-larrrr!” The woman barked, hands on hips.

                Jessica didn’t know whether to smile or frown, a circumstance which seemed to increase the waitress’ vexation.

                She leaned forward and said with slow deliberateness, “You sun rising in _West, not East_.”

                “Uh. Thanks?”

                Disgusted, the waitress spewed a few phrases in her native dialect which added to Jessica’s bemusement. Obviously she wanted to tell Jessica something but, mystified, Jessica couldn’t figure it out. Of all things, the old woman spit on the floor, face screwed up in disapproval, then stomped off.

                Finally, her phone went off and Jessica snatched it up, eager to forget the odd exchange.

**_Be there in five!_ **

Relief flushed through her like an laxative through constipation, not very glamorous but not a moment too soon. While checking her email, she idly listened to the staccato conversation being held somewhere in the back, presumably between the cook and waitress and since Jessica didn’t speak the language, it held little interest.

                “I’m chargin’ you extra, Amazon.”

                “No problem, Minion.”

                He slid into the opposite side of the booth. Unconcerned with the amount of gunk on the tabletop, Minion rested his folded arms on it. “Dude, I’m soooo much more cooler than those marshmallows that look like someone dipped them in piss.”

                Jessica set her phone down. “I would worry about you but I don’t care that much.”

                “Ouch.”

                Minion looked like a suburban kid raised on cornflakes and soccer. His appearance and mannerisms were absolutely in the middle, not too perfect and not too obvious. Some people noticed him but not in any prolonged way.   To Jessica, he looked and acted normal, easily taken for granted, yet his skills were legendary. So much so, she sometimes wondered if he were gifted in a Neo-Matrix kind of way.

                “Mark up fifty more dollars since the sun’s still out.”

                “That’s robbery!”

                Minion waited for her statement to set in. “Yeah, it’s what I do, Amazon.”

                “And you look so ordinary.”

                Before he could respond to Jessica, the waitress shuffled near, plate precariously angling downward. “zǎo chén hǎo.”

                Jessica looked at Minion, mouth slightly ajar.

                He shrugged. “I know a little Mandarin Chinese.”

                Completely surprised, Jessica remained silent, listening and watching as Minion seemed to charm the waitress. A few times his eyes cut over at her in contemplative pauses, as if considering a response, then he would look back at the other woman. The conversation went rapidly or so it seemed to Jessica, sounds projected wetly through spittle. Very quickly she became bored, turning her attention to the plate of food that had been apathetically delivered. The white bread was a little soggy, tomatoes chopped instead of sliced, but the bacon was crisp and thick.

                When the waitress left, Jessica narrowed her eyes at Minion.

                “You’ve made quite an impression on Liling.” A smirk hovered over his mouth, not quite ready to spread into a full-fledged smile. Obviously something was amusing him about what he learned while conversing with Liling.

                In no real hurry to discover what exactly made her the brunt of their private interaction, Jessica pulled out her wallet and placed some bills on the table.

                “I’m good for the mark-up.” Minion was about to voice an objection but she silenced him with a raised brow. “How’s business?”

                “Picking up actually now that I’ve expanded my client base.”

                Jessica popped open the bag of potato chips and tilted toward him. Minion carefully dug in. “So, you’ve graduated from emails to…?”

                Smiling and chewing with potato bits sticking to his teeth, Minion didn’t offer an explanation. Jessica, about to press for more and knowing how easily he would succumb to her brand of persuasion, was interrupted by Liling as she gingerly set down a steaming bowl of noodles. Her subservient manner toward the hacker showed in the meek posture and averted, downcast eyes.

                After a short spurt of conversation with Minion, Liling turned to face Jessica. She licked her lips and slowly enunciated, “You ape _normals._ ”

                “Is that the same as ‘not regular’?” Jessica flippantly responded then took a bite of her sandwich.

                “Like bamboo up ass.” Satisfied Jessica understood that, Liling retreated, shoulders squared.

                Minion immediately stifled a laugh by shoving a ball of noodles into his mouth.

                “What was that about?”

                Shifting the wad of half-chewed food into the pouch of his cheek, Minion answered, “She can ‘see’ your gift. Something about a halo or aura or some such shit that shines around you.”

                “Lovely.”

                “Not really.” Minion pointed his empty fork at her. “She said your aura gives off angry and ugly colors like…umm, like pig shit in a rice field or something, I dunno. Whatever, dude, she said she knows a Taiwanese priest that can improve the look of it so other people won’t be so offended.”

                “You know, I’m like a magnet for weird people.”

                “You’re one of the weirdest so it makes sense, dude.”

                Jessica stood, dropping a few bills for Liling and the food.

                “I’ll send over what I got when I’m done here. Nice doin’ business with you, Amazon.”

§

 

Time was ticking too slowly for Jessica. Meeting Minion hadn’t taken up near enough of it in order to avoid Mary Agnes and the next client so returning to the apartment wasn’t an option. She took it as a good sign Malcolm hadn’t sent a text. Casing Warren J.’s house in daylight seemed a viable option. Jessica checked her phone for the address then flagged down another cab only to lose it to a more aggressive fare.

                “Are you sitting down?” Trish asked when Jessica answered the phone.

                “I hope to be. I’m trying to get a cab.”

                “I’ve got a name.”

                “Yes, I know. It’s Trish, short for—“

                “And you investigate for a living? I’m starting to think you’re not very good at it.”

                Jessica sighed then ran toward a slowing taxi, ready to block like a defensive end. “You’re shifting gears a little fast, _Patsy_.”

                “You do realize I dislike being reminded of that show.”

                “Awww, come on, you were adorable in that red wig!”

                “Don’t do it. I’m warning you, Jess.”

                Disregarding Trish, Jessica practically sang, “Pat-sy the clown, scared all the children in town…”

                “You actually went there! Seriously, you’re an ass. Tone it down a little or I won’t tell you what I found out about IGH.”

                “You really should be over your fear of clowns by now, Trish. I’ve been trying to help you with that since you were diagnosed.” Jessica sighed heavily into the phone. “Maybe I should dress up—“

                “Coulrophobia is a _real_ condition!”

                “ _Seriously_ , you need to unclutch.”

                “Let me know when you’re done.”

                Jessica smiled. “Ummm….yeah….aboooooout…now. Okay, I’m done, dear sister. So, tell me your news.”

                In a hushed tone, halfway between theatrical and comedic, Trish said, “I’ve got a name. Does Dr. Omar Ekaf ring a bell?”

                “Nope.”

                “Well, I’ve read thousands of documents and no other names except the doctors that worked on you and your family were on them. Then, there was a bill for—“

                “Trish, did Mommie Dearest give all those papers?”

                “Who else would have them, Jess?”

                A moment of unease rippled between them. “What did you have to promise? You can’t afford--”

                “I know. She offered and I didn’t promise anything, okay? I’m not going to let her hurt me—or you—again. Look, you’re gonna have to trust me.” Taking Jessica’s silence for acquiescence, Trish excitedly continued, “His name is all over a stack of bills naming him as a consultant to your case. What’s strange is he isn’t listed on anyone else’s. I’m gonna make some calls tomorrow, pull a few strings.”

                “Trish, what if…I don’t know. Maybe we shouldn’t be doing this right now.”

                “If Wonder Woman and Super Girl and The Hulk had a baby, it’d be you. Stop being a pussy!”

                “ _Wonder Woman?_ ”

                “Well, you’re not cool enough to be Xena.”

                “Okay, I get The Hulk, even Super Girl…but why the third wheel, Wonder Woman? And why did it take a threesome to create me? And, _no one_ is cooler than Xena.”

                “It’s amazing you can’t get a date with such conversational skills.”

                “ _Pat-sy, the clown_ _has a smile that’s turned upside down_. _She’s_ —hey, did you just hang up on me?” The dial tone confirmed Jessica’s suspicion.  

                With a small grin on her face, she told the cabbie, "Tribeca, Murphy and Church."


	4. AKA  Lavender on the Dancefloor

**AKA Lavender on the Dancefloor**

If Jessica were any judge and the measuring stick was the amount of wealth he possessed, Warren J. was too successful. The Tribeca residence, (because in a million dollar neighborhood ‘apartment’ would sound too crass), was located in a building by the intersection of Murphy and Church Streets. Jessica paid the cab driver.   Warren J. didn’t live in the most expensive building on the street but his apartment did have north and east-facing vistas of the Manhattan skyline. Twenty-three stories up with windows for walls and the only eyes able to look in were of the avian variety, the apartment, however modest in comparison to its neighbors, was the quintessential Tribeca loft. Jessica experienced a slight pang of envy but decent apartments were hard to find and she was lucky to have hers.

                Across the street was the kind of café where you tipped the barista and knew exactly what you wanted before reaching the counter. There were no hesitations or long silences while standing in front of it, no hosting an internal debate on frothy, skim, or mocha. Order and pay, preferably without conversation slowing down the process. It was a good place to wait. Jessica sidestepped a woman pushing a stroller, a guy in a track suit wearing headphones, and two business men before she made it inside the coffeehouse. The aroma of sweet desserts and roasted bitter coffee made inhaling a pleasure given how exhaust and garbage fumes followed closely behind.

                Jessica people-watched from a wrought iron bench outside the café. City dwellers were the experts in multitasking, planning ahead and toting a light pack filled with the evening’s change of clothes for Wednesday’s cocktail hour or Thursday’s second date at a new restaurant across town. Movement was key because the next destination loomed large but was always too far away to reach on time. Despite their earnest and rapier navigation, obstacles foiled their efforts at every turn. Broken subways and buses, spilled beverages, construction, and even the weather collaborated to thwart the New Yorkers’ best intentions. Despite it all, they swarmed over the concrete sidewalks like ants day in and day out.

                It was easy to pick out the tourists and newcomers because they were the only ones stopping. Tentatively she sipped from a large, skinny paper cup as her eyes scanned the area, not concerned about surveillance because it wasn’t going to tell her anything she needed to know. It was a building with a doorman. She wasn’t going to get buzzed in by Warren J. or one of his family members. Security would surely stop her if she kept walking toward the elevators. When the time came, she was sure something would come to her. Until then, the sun was beginning to change from pale yellow to a deeper shade just shy of orange. The air was turning colder, whipping through passages created between the tall buildings.  Scarf snug around her throat, Jessica settled back in the chair, crossing her legs. The wind picked up, an urban dirt devil, and forced her to look away to avoid the pinpricks of grit.

                Not twenty feet from her were two men in fatigues and knit caps, one leaning against the building with his arms crossed over his chest and the other looking at his phone. She had some time to kill. Casually she stood then tossed the half-full coffee into the receptacle and began walking. Long tresses bouncing with each deliberate step, Jessica never looked at them but continued on with her shoulders hunched. She sped up a little, seeing the alley up ahead on the other side of the street.   With a cursory glance to check for bike couriers, she stepped off the curb and slashed through the traffic, confident her followers wouldn’t lose her. Just before she turned into the alleyway, Jessica furtively looked back, close to laughing when she spied how anxious they seemed. Hurriedly she ducked into the blind alley then turned around to wait for them. It didn’t take long. They appeared, breathless and scowling, blocking the only exit. When they saw she was waiting for them, the shorter of the two shook his head.

                “Didn’t I tell ye she was on to us?”

                “Wasn’t it I who said to back off a bit, ye dumb nob!”

                The shorter one scratched his head. “Well, there’s no cause to be—“

                “Hello!” Jessica interrupted their argument. “I’m right here, dumb asses.”

                The taller one blinked then began to step forward but the smaller guy grabbed his arm. “You don’t wanna tangle with that one, Brogan—you heard the man, he said—“

                “I right don’t give a fuck now, do I? This bitch—“

                “Can’t wait to kick your Crocodile Dundee ass!”

                “We’re Irish, lass, but ye be findin’ that out soon enough.”

                A vein pounded in the tall guy’s temple. The short one made a disgusted noise then turned away. Crocodile Dundee slipped off his knit cap and shoved it into his back pocket.

                “Here we go then!”

                “Hold up, hold up.”   Warily, the big man regarded her, arms at his sides but thick shoulders bulging forward, sneer in place on his face. She cocked her head to the side.

                “What’s this now?”

                “You forgot somethin’.”

                “And what be that?”

                “Aren’t you guys supposed to yell something? Like heading into a fight?” When neither man answered, Jessica did so for them. She cleared her throat then yelled, “’They may take our lives, but they’ll never take our freedom!’”     

                “We’re bloody _Irish_ ye stupid arse!” snarled the smaller man. “Brogan, teach her a lesson but mind ye leave her how she was found.”

                With that, the fighting began as Brogan rushed her. Jessica neatly avoided him then helped momentum by shoving him along. It was enough to send him toppling ass-over-head several yards away. Opportunistic, Jessica spun to the smaller man and knocked him out before he could little more than gape at her. Filled with triumph and adrenaline, she wasn’t fast enough to combat Brogan’s countermove which was a brilliant tackle, his shoulder slamming into her midsection. She couldn’t breathe, the impact temporarily preventing her lungs from drawing air but the subsequent hard landing, with Brogan solidly, heavily on top her, had a wonderful restorative effect. Jessica tossed him aside, sending him into the side of a dumpster. Even when she kicked him, the Irish giant didn’t move and thus satisfied, Jessica walked over to the smaller man who was groggily trying to sit up.

                “Ready to talk now, wee man?” She was squatting nearby, voice intimate.

                He squinted up at her, still prone but supported by his elbows. “Seein’ as how ye got me on the flat of me back wit me partner laid upon the ground sleepin’ like a babe—“

                “Jesus, you English people go _on and on_ —“

                “We’re IRISH, damn ye to hell, and I warn ye, lass, to kindly remember that or else ye be gettin’ nuttin’ outta me.”

                A small smile twitched over Jessica’s mouth then was gone. “Tell me who sent you and I walk away without whooping your ass anymore.” She stood back and allowed him to stand.

                Sighing, the man rubbed the back of his neck and stared at the ground. Jessica was about to shake him when he finally revealed, “Twas a giant of a black man. We was told to watch over ye and report back.”

                Jessica didn’t want to ask the next question. The suspicion in her gut was turning into a rock of certainty but the longer it wasn’t said, the more time she had to adjust to it. “What are you going to report?”

                “That you’re safe as a babe.”

                “And where are you going to report this?”

                “Chicago.”

                A low moan and shuffling noises caught their attention. “Looks like your mate has finally decided to join the party again.” Jessica pointed with her chin in Brogan’s direction. “That’s my cue to leave.”

                The small man nodded sharply then walked over to his friend.

                Jessica, poised to leave, couldn’t, not without confirmation. As if the answer didn’t matter, wouldn’t tear something important inside of her, she asked, “Hey, what’s the black guy’s name?”

                “Luke Cage.”

§

 

She went through the motions. Every step she took after the Irish alley encounter was precise, designed to advance the Warren J. case. No room for emotional upheaval or mental tail-chasing, her brain concentrated on work. When she had time…or the strength, Jessica would shake the ex-boyfriend stalker tree, perhaps, and she wasn’t particularly looking forward to what would come loose.

                The text from Jeri confirmed that Warren J. was attending a charity benefit for autistic children at a trendy Manhattan hotel, hosted by the partners of his law firm. His wife and children would be accompanying him, dutifully showing support for one of the partners whose granddaughter was diagnosed last year. It was the type of gala event many lawyers attended, not so much for the cause as for the opportunities. Unlikely Warren J. would miss such an occasion given his attendance was deemed mandatory by all the attorneys whose offices were floors above his own. Raw ambition was a more believable motivator for not many associates wanted to remain a small fish in a lake dominated by sharks.

                If Jeri’s text had said the Fosters weren’t going to attend, Jessica would have simply waited until the next day while the parents went to work and the children went to school. As it was, she had a few hours to kill until the event started. She decided to go back to apartment and see what Minion dug up on Guillermo. It was a risk returning, but one hopefully in her favor. The odds were about sixty-forty that Mary Agnes had left and Malcolm had finished with the next client. Other options, options she would have never thought of, begged consideration: a walk in the park, window shopping, people watching, sightseeing. All of them anemic and trite and completely out of character. The course of her life had been set the night of the accident. Liling was right. Jessica wasn’t like other people. What to do with that was a puzzle best solved for another time.

                It was with a certain relief Jessica felt when she exited the cab to see the apartment building she called home. The adventures of the day were taking a toll, zapping energy and the Wild Fowl beckoned. Post Kilgrave Jessica’s life had taken an odd though seemingly positive turn. Her behavior and the impulses that ruled it needed more time to adjust. When such a time came, she would worry about it then. In the meantime, a little light reading while sipping Wild Fowl was as good as it got.

                She should have known better.

                The wonderful aroma, tendrils of unseen culinary triumph, was a seduction. Key hovering over the lock, Jessica hesitated. She closed her eyes and inhaled. A tight knot of memory loosened and in her mind, she was transported to childhood. So ordinary, the image of her mother standing in front of an open refrigerator. Roast. Someone was cooking a roast in her apartment. Jessica’s eyes snapped open. Disquieted, she jammed the key into the lock.

                “Ma made dinner!” Malcolm squealed, rushing to meet her.

                “Who the fuck is Ma?”

                “Mary Agnes. Here, let me take your coat and scarf.”

                 Jessica shoved his helping hands away. “Get away from me, freak.”

                “At first I started calling Mary Agnes M.A. but then I realized it spelled—“

                “Are you back on drugs?”

                Malcolm’s eyes dimmed. “No. It’s just nice, you know, to have a home cooked meal. It’s been a while.”

                There was the clatter of metal pots coming from the kitchen. Jessica’s eyes scanned the living room. The furniture pieces by the door had been taken out. A scared looking young man sat on her couch. The top of her desk was neatly arranged. Mary Agnes emerged from the kitchen, wooden spoon in hand and a dishtowel slung over her shoulder. Jessica’s brain skittered to a stop. Her eyes flicked back to the guy on the couch.

                Malcolm laid a gently restraining hand on her arm. “That’s Leamon Durst.” He pulled her closer to whisper, “The girl he loves is missing. It’s pretty sad and romantic really. She’s—“

                “Is this something I have to know?” Jessica’s eyes bored into his, warning.

                “M-maybe later.”

                “Why are these people in my apartment?”

                Before Malcolm could respond, Mary Agnes approached them. “We were gonna save a plate for you but seein’ as how you’re here, we can set a place instead. Just sit on down next to Leamon on the couch. There’s a pitcher of iced-tea I just made in the frigid-air. Go be a dear, Malcolm, and fetch Jessica a glass. Leamon, how you doin’ over there, honey? Malcolm, go see if he needs more tea.” Mary Agnes smiled, taking Jessica’s arm and guiding her slow feet toward the couch. She whispered, “That little boy is as skinny as a fence rail. Why, it’s no wonder. Y’all don’t have a soul to look after yah.”

               To resist or succumb, the proverbial fork in the road. She wanted to flee. She always wanted to flee. Yet Mary Agnes was looking at her, expectation and trust so clearly marked Jessica could see it through the haze of her own anger. The nervous college kid nevertheless peered at her with eyes the color of a morning blue sky, hope like streaks of white clouds. Jessica swallowed a few times then nodded. The weight of their gazes was too much. She felt inadequate, half-convinced she would fail them. Divided in spirit, Jessica outwardly ceded to the moment.

               They gratefully ate the food Mary Agnes had cooked, praising her efforts and Malcolm’s help. Jessica, a little shamed, put a handful of crumbled bills on the table but quickly snatched them back when the protests grew too stringent.

               “We all contributed, Jessica.” When Jessica would have objected, Mary Agnes headed her off. “Leamon and Malcolm paid for it. Malcolm fetched everything from the store. If’n you don’t mind my sayin’, honey, you could use a little help keepin’ things stocked with the basics. As for me, I just threw it together and you, why, you let us all use your home and utilities! Now it’s all done and said and when everyone’s finished, there’s a nice cake on the counter for dessert!”

                Jessica nodded and obediently finished the meal but bypassed the cake entirely. Panic welded its way onto her iron control. It began to spread when she couldn’t locate the Wild Fowl. Those eyes of everyone seemed to stare at her, seeing things in her she didn’t have. The air carried puffs of high expectations that clogged her lungs. She wanted, needed a filter for this, to keep her sane. Almost frantic, she searched the kitchen cabinets but couldn’t find even an empty bottle.

                “Where is it!”

                Leamon jumped at her tone then stared down at the floor. Malcolm was about to respond when Mary Agnes quickly answered, “It’s gone, honey. You’re forgettin’ I know a thing or two about drinkers. It’s one of the reasons I hired you, aint it? My Viktor—“

                Jessica stopped listening. She headed for the bedroom and flipped aside the mattress. The half-full fifth was gone. Desperate, she began yanking open drawers but everything was so neat, so foreign that the apartment seemed more like theirs than her own. Malcolm was pulling at her, his words like golf balls bouncing down a paved road, coming so fast only to keep going so far. Unable to manage the façade they gave to her a minute longer, Jessica ran away and into the arms of the corner liquor store.

                 It went smoothly. No obstacles to delay time for reflection. The universe didn’t conspire to erect signs to blockade or divert the path of a soul. A little voice did not sound off in her head, questioning the decision. Traffic didn’t delay her arrival. Conversely, it would appear the universe approved since the only sign it threw down was none at all. She stood in line, the bottle she wanted behind the counter on a shelf. The sight of it calmed her, not overly but enough where her heart didn’t deafen her ears. Such a simple, uncontested task, the purchase. Jessica looked at her phone. Maybe an hour left before heading down to Warren J.’s. Or. The conjunction left unfinished lingered in her mind like a wisp of honeysuckle through the nose. It was so transparent Jessica could have denied its existence but ‘or’ stayed and started to recruit her thoughts.   She didn’t have to break into Warren J.’s tonight. Tomorrow would do just as conveniently. Jeri would be pissed about the delay but…did Jeri have to know? Jessica did some calculations in her head and, yes, it was true, if she did the job tonight, she could probably give Jeri something by the morning providing something was to be found. What was another few hours? Another few days if it came down to it? She could let Jeri believe she broke into Warren J.’s the night of the fundraiser and make up a story to stall her.

                  The night could be hers. A reset, pause, timeout or break. Any label would do. Huddled against the cold wind, she walked on with the small pint snuggly between her skin and waistband. When she turned the corner, feeling suddenly lighter, Jessica still didn’t realize she had already made up her mind.

§

Once the pint was finished, which, regrettably was consumed faster than the buzz could follow on a full stomach, Jessica dropped into another store and bought its bigger brother, the quart. Cheeks ruddy from cold and drink, she aimlessly walked until the thirst became insistent. Only then did she seek out a quiet, dark shadow, not because she was ashamed but because she didn’t want to draw attention to herself. She ignored the buzz of her phone, contemplated turning it off. A missed call and three texts from Malcolm, one text from Jeri and a missed call from Trish filled the alerts across the locked screen. There was a very pleasant warm sensation filling her chest, more from the alcohol and her choice to abandon work than from the people trying to get a hold of her. Resolutely deciding to cut off further contact, Jessica powered down the phone and shoved it in her back pocket. The action felt liberating and not in the least cowardly. Thus she spent a few hours, roaming the city and stealing nips so frequently that the big brother was soon empty. And it was enough, finally, to quiet the internal noise.

                Jessica was drunk but not overly, not predictably like a normal person would be after downing over a quart of whiskey. Her movements were slower, it was true, but not sluggish and jerky. Brain function was nominal but, then, how much was needed really to walk the city streets? Disconnected from emotions, Jessica construed the sensation for happiness and simply reveled in it. A ripple, like water lapping against her skin, travelled from the top of her head, down her spine, delayed a little at her pelvis then languidly descended over her thighs, shins and feet. Vaguely erotic, ultimately soothing, the perception was mere suggestion, free of the heavy intent physical touch embodied. A part of Jessica rallied as if challenged and memories of her time with Luke resurfaced. They were too new to lapse into the golden light of retrospection. Sharply lined with passionate reds and brilliant yellows, the memories spoke of the visceral, the corporal and Jessica’s libido stirred. It was rather surprising but not rare to feel so after all that came after. Luke was gone but...desire stayed with her. The insight tickled Jessica. Why shouldn’t she indulge? When an answer didn’t sway her, a slow grin spread across her mouth. There was a place to go for that. Jessica hailed a cab, abruptly very eager to get where she was going.

                The music was loud, a Euro-techno mix that had the dancefloor jumping up and down with hands in the air. Although hardly dressed for such a venue, Jessica had made it past the magical velvet red rope by the strength of her grip alone, which, miraculously was enough to persuade the bouncer. Fake smoke mingled with the real kind, hovering above the people like a shroud despite the industrial sized fans dangling from the ceiling. Green and blue strobe lights cut through it, synchronized with the beat. What she lacked in dancing skills Jessica made up for in an abundance of an ‘I don’t give a shit’ attitude. She had carved out a small space to move on the dancefloor, closed her eyes and gave herself up to whatever came about. The rhythm changed to a more languorous one with a heavy Caribbean influence. Sweat began to accumulate between her breasts, on the back of her neck, down her ribs. Jessica shed the hoodie. Fluid. She felt fluidity, felt the blood gain speed through her veins, felt the tightening in her loins with each sway of her hips. Fingers slipped beneath the rising edge of her shirt. Instinctively she knew it was a female behind her for the touch was too delicate, had too much request behind its pressure. Jessica neither conceded nor rebuffed, content to leave the decisions up to someone else. A palm clasped her waist, fingers dipping under the waistband and gently pulling Jessica backward. Her eyes snapped open when that bold, confident hand slid deeper inside her pants. Soft breasts pressed against her back. The scent of lavender teased Jessica’s nose. Slowly, the woman’s other hand drew Jessica’s hair to the side and warm lips fastened upon her neck.

                Jessica stopped dancing and turned around. The ripple was back with a little more force, a warm sensation surrounding her. Helplessly her body responded, the fine hairs on her arms lifting, a jolt of awareness awakening feelings Jessica had thought were casualties from the past. Her muscles tightened then relaxed involuntarily, again and again until her flesh felt so sensitized Jessica didn’t know how much longer she could take it. The woman’s stare was penetrating, hypnotic. The scent of lavender was heavier now. Everything around them, music and people, became indistinguishable and muffled.

                “Tell me what you want.”

                The woman’s voice was sinfully deep but not masculine and it made Jessica tremble.

                “What makes you think I want anything?” It was a travesty, how panicked she sounded.

                Smirking, eyes glinting with hidden knowledge, the beautiful stranger simply held up the hand that had been in Jessica’s pants and wiggled the fingers. “Your body knows what it wants.”

                She could not keep her eyelids sliding shut as heat invaded her face. Legs weak, breath diminished, a vision of what she wanted those fingers to do overwhelmed Jessica. She felt strange, unlike herself. A lassitude invaded her limbs. Willfully she opened her eyes, cleared her throat, trying to regain control.

                “My…body doesn’t decide for me.”

                Throaty laughter tickled Jessica’s ear. “I could help it along.”

                The air seemed to gradually grow lighter, the lavender smell ebbing away, just a hint left behind. Jessica blinked. Curls of arousal wended through her body but she no longer felt like she was in the middle of a whirlpool.

                “I’m sure you could.”

                “My name is Madison Wu.”

                “Jessica.”

                Slender fingers lightly brushed the hair from Jessica’s neck. “You’re a very attractive woman, Jessica.”

                Just barely able to avoid leaning into Madison’s quick touch, Jessica fisted her hands. The music roared back suddenly, gyrating bodies bumping against them. It was disconcerting, how the atmosphere changed, how the throb in Jessica’s body was no longer at a peak. Evidence of what transpired still pulsed within her like an indolent wave. The frantic urgency receded to a non-troublesome distance leaving Jessica’s head a little clearer.

                “I need something to drink.”

                Madison swept back the layered midnight hair that had partially shielded her face and Jessica noticed the blue streak in front.

                “Let me buy it for you?”

                There was a lilt in her voice that gently soothed a nerve inside of Jessica she had no idea required such attention. Things between them shifted so effortlessly or felt like they did. Not a few minutes ago Jessica was on the verge of dragging Madison into a darkened corner. Now she wanted…solace?

                When she still hadn’t responded, Madison drew near and placed a hand on Jessica’s shoulder. Pleasure lightly passed through her skin and mixed with her blood. The sensation was carried through Jessica’s veins stroking tense muscles into quiet submission along the way.

                “You’re pretty aggressive.”

                Madison smiled but her eyes were serious. “Do you want me to be submissive then?”

                A sharp twinge, half painful but fully arousing, shot through Jessica’s sex. Either the aftermath of such an intense spasm or the images it conjured made her knees suddenly weak.

                “Damn.” Jessica breathed, inflection somewhere between a plea and curse. When she finally gathered enough nerve to look, she wholeheartedly regretted it because Madison’s dark eyes were mesmerizing. Once again the music and people faded. She loved the heat coming off Madison’s body, the brushing of thighs. Lavender filled her lungs.

                “Whatever you want.”

                More images charged into her mind, bullying lesser, saner ones into obscurity. All she could do was close her eyes against the onslaught but that only made it worse.  She was so ready to give in, no longer sure why she was fighting it. Heart pumping madly, she flicked off the lights in her head.  When Jessica looked up, having made her decision, Madison was gone. The ache and regret inside of her didn’t galvanize her legs. Rooted to the spot, surrounded by the energy of dancing bodies and blasting music, Jessica felt despair.


	5. AKA Hamsters in Heat

**_AKA Hamsters in Heat_ **

When she opened the apartment door, the smell of Pine Sol assaulted her nose. A small lamp on the desk had been left on, casting a dim light into the dark shadows. No one was within which made Jessica wilt in gratitude. Dishes were stacked in the plastic drainer, a dried stiff cloth hanging over the sink divider. Jessica opened the fridge. Inside, three square plastic containers perched to the left of a gallon of milk she knew she didn’t buy. Someone had cleaned the door shelves. Out of curiosity she opened the vegetable drawer, surprised to find a few stalks of celery in a plastic bag and three apples rolling around on the bottom. Jessica picked one up then closed the bin.

                She plugged in her phone, belatedly turned it on then plopped down on the sofa. Before she put her feet up on the coffee table, the adamant buzzes started. Nothing but recriminations, guilt, and anger prompted the alerts, of that Jessica was sure. She bit into the green apple and wiped a dribble of juice from her chin. The evening’s high had completely worn off, not a surprise, given she tolerated alcohol extremely well and…her blood was still running fast which didn’t make any sense to her. Jessica closed her eyes, wiggled deeper into the couch.

                Luke was sending people to check up on her. Evidently he was living in Chicago, a fact she wished she didn’t know because the more she knew, the harder it was to forget. Words hadn’t been spoken between them, not the ones that kept things going. The distance between them was wider than any device could measure, a sign to leave well enough alone if there ever was one. Wishing for a full whiskey bottle, Jessica groaned. Brain exhaustion took its toll and her thoughts were without direction. Jeri, work, Trish, Luke, Malcolm and even Mary Agnes swirled through her mind like feathers caught in a breeze.

               Then there was Madison Wu. Just pronouncing the name inside her head hours after seeing her had the power to stir something within Jessica. Of course at the club she had snapped out of the daze, looking for Madison among the cavorting people but when that proved pointless, she headed toward the exit. Anxiety tweaked the corners of her heart and it pumped faster in response, sending signals throughout her body. By the time Jessica reached the door, the urge to locate Madison had blossomed into need. Bursting forth, her ears popped a little from the abrupt change in pressure. Chilled air cut into her lungs. Car horns and engines competed with the internal voice in her head yelling at her to hurry. Panic set in but there was nowhere for her to go. People jostled around her as she swiveled her head and turned her body, the cold attacking her nose and ears.

                The realization that she knew absolutely nothing about the other woman set in too.

                Now, sheltered by familiar walls and alone, Jessica’s thoughts were chaotic. Madison had appeared like lightening behind a cloud and left like rumbling thunder across empty space. The long, troubled walk home was spent trying to convince herself it didn’t matter but thoughts of Madison didn’t float, weren’t easily batted away. Instead, they burned like comets across a canvas of cold black and once she thought them, she couldn’t simply forget them. Jessica squirmed. She tried to concentrate on something else but her traitorous body still tingled. Memory was a vengeful bitch. Running out on Malcolm and ditching work were supposed to help alleviate the stress. Wild Fowl and the club were to make her temporarily forget. Instead of falling into an exhausted heap onto the bed after a night of tension-relieving activities, she was twitching like a junkie on the sofa. Jessica rested a hand on her stomach. The sensitive pads of her fingers detected a faint pulse. The weight and warmth settled into her skin. She remembered the feel of Madison’s tapered fingers sliding below her waist, how they crossed the boundary like it wasn’t meant for her.

                 Weak-willed wasn’t one of Jessica’s flaws. Neither was obsessing over having sex with someone and yet, her hand was inching under the shirt, fingers splayed over the concave surface of her stomach. Jessica sank further into the soft cushions, the heels of her boots hooked over the table’s edge. The image of Madison’s face was so sharp behind her closed eyelids that her body reacted as if reality was irrelevant. Dark almond-shaped eyes, lined in black, peered at her with such fascination, Jessica couldn’t think to look anywhere else. The blue streak of hair was only visible when the top layer of thick black was flung or pulled back. It started at the side part of a cowlick all the way to the hairs’ end, making Jessica’s fingers fidget with the need to touch. Full lips glistened as they curved into a seductive line, not quite a smile. She couldn’t help but feel a stab of regret for not having tasted them. So lost in the memory, Jessica caught the faintest whiff of lavender, making her back arch with hungry prickles. The move caused the seam of her jeans to rub between her legs. Apple forgotten, Jessica undid a button, unzipped the pants. The scent of lavender suddenly overwhelmed and she inhaled sharply, starved for it. Saliva flooded her mouth. Abruptly one leg straightened, sending the table far and askew. Strangled noises escaped her clamped lips. There was no thought to stop, to slow, to question. She was lost to a fantasy, chasing it as if it were real. _Madison. Madison. Madison._ The name was a litany inside her skull.

                 Not long after, the apple rolled off the couch and landed on the floor with a thud.

§

Falling asleep on the couch after a night out wasn’t unusual. As it was, she rose, clothes awry and hair entirely snarled. The brown apple core seemed to look at her through reproaching seed pods. Why a light heat stole upon her cheeks, Jessica refused to contemplate, more than a little impatient with her adolescent reaction. She reached down and picked up the apple. Another day was upon her and things needed to be done. Resolutely she left yesterday in the don’t-think-about-that-shit pile.

                With a direction to go in, Jessica hastily peeled off clothes and tossed them in the laundry basket. For someone in such a hurry to wash off the grime, she took an inordinate amount of time under the shower spray but she was thoroughly clean when she got out. Breakfast consisted of dinner leftovers. There was a half-full loaf of bread on the counter. Jessica took a few slices and made a sandwich. Cleaned and fed, she turned her attention to the desk. She read every text and listened to every voicemail and decided to shoot off some quick replies to arrange the day’s activities, hold off more expansive explanations. The phone rang in the middle of typing a text and because it was the person she was texting, Jessica answered.

                “You call me an awful lot for someone I’m not sleeping with.”

                “But I am paying you. Did you get what I need?”

                “It’s on today’s agenda, Jeri.”

                There was a moment’s hesitation, hovering like a bubble between them. Then, Jeri said, “Be sure that it is.”

                If all the discussions of the day would go so smoothly, Jessica’s conscience could be free but the knock on the front door snuffed the tiny spark of hope.

                “Just listen to me.”

                Malcolm stood in the doorway, his eyes round and apologetic staring through the tight hair ringlets dangling in front of them. Jessica moved away from the door and allowed him to pass.

                “Have all your friends gone home? Don’t expect me to play happy family with you.”

                “Okay, I deserved that one but you didn’t have to run away, you know.”

                “Do you have a laptop?”

                Malcolm made a face. “I’m a junkie on the road to recovery.”

                She fished out a lockbox from the desk drawer, punched in a code then withdrew a wad of cash. “Go buy one. I need you to do some work on the internet for Mary Agnes. Set up an email account, too, then text it to me. I’ll send you some files for the Yancy Price case and you’ll need the Wi-Fi password, too. Maybe tonight we can get together and go through some paperwork, set up some stuff on the computer to organize everything.”

                Malcolm tried to speak, then stopped, staring at the wall to his right. After a few seconds, he looked back at her. “I’ll…I can do that.”

                Jessica nodded, stowed the metal box back where it belonged, then pocketed the keys. “See ya.”

                “Hey, where are you going?”

                She was halfway through the entry by the time she answered, “Gonna dig up some dirt.”

§

It was still too early in the morning to visit Warren J.’s apartment which suited Jessica rather well since she really needed to touch base with Trish in person. The things in her head were getting bigger, impossible to break down without Trish’s cool demeanor and supportive insight. The decision alone was enough to ease the constriction in her chest. Better to arrive unannounced with edible bribery, Jessica made a detour to a bakery along the way and bought several mini chocolate tortes, two of which were consumed by the time she reached Trish’s reinforced metal door.

                Curls of damp hair framed Trish’s angular face. There was a very attractive blush infusing her cheeks but her eyes were flat. Jessica’s smile faltered just for a second then rebounded, too bright to be entirely confident.

                “Good thing you worked up an appetite because I’ve got choc-“

                “You should have called.”

                “Is that something new you want to start?” Jessica’s tone was nonchalant as she began to unpack the tortes on the kitchen counter and she rushed to chatter, the intense vibes getting to her. “It looks like I have an employee, if you can believe that one. Look at me…boss of one, huh?   Who knows, maybe—“

                “Jessica.”

                Trish’s tone was enough to stop her nervous antics. She watched as Trish opened the fridge and pulled out a bottle of water, waiting expectantly.

                “Dr. Omar Ekaf is a dead end.”

                “Who?”

                “IGH? The doctor authorizing and performing some unknown ‘treatment’ on you after the car crash? Jesus, it’s like you don’t even care, Jess! What the hell is _wrong_ with you? Don’t you want to know what they did to you?”

                Properly upbraided, Jessica had the good sense to look down and drop her shoulders while playing with the hem of her shirt. After a minute or two she took a deep breath before carefully looking up and straightening her spine.

                “I know I wasn’t born this way, Trish. Someone did something to me back then. I get it., so I _know_ what happened to me. It’s done and to be honest, I’m not mad about it, okay? Maybe that makes me—“

                “Don’t you want to know _why_?”

                “I don’t know.”

                The silence between them, the question asked and answered filling it, served as a division, with Jessica firmly entrenched in the present, unwilling to dig up things in the past.

Defeated, at least provisionally, Trish decided to regroup. With studied casualness, she plucked a torte from the cardboard box that was splayed open. “Dr. Omar Ekaf…spell his last name backwards.”

                Licking some crumbs off her thumb, Jessica didn’t immediately answer. “F-a-k-e….Well, shit.”

                “Someone has a sense of humor, I guess.”

                “I guess. So, IGH is a bust, Dr. Fake is obviously, well, fake, so—“

                “Someone did something to you, Jess. Maybe they’re doing things to other people, too. Maybe…maybe you aren’t the only one?”

                Jessica stared at the nearly gone torte in her hand. Trish’s message, however gently delivered, had the impact of a sharp, solid object penetrating Jessica’s chest.

                “Can’t you just lay off with that stuff for a while?” A smear of chocolate marked her white skin when Jessica dumped the unfinished dessert back into the bakery box.

                “Don’t wipe it on your clothes!” Trish was quick to admonish, rushing to the paper towel rack and yanking off several sheets.

                Wryly Jessica looked at the fluttering stream of plain white paper making its way toward her via Trish’s outstretched hand. “I didn’t _bathe_ in the shit.”

                For a response, Trish pushed the loose wad up against Jessica’s stomach and let go, snagging the dessert box on her way out the kitchen.

                “So, what brings you here with chocolate?”

                Jessica tossed the crumbled paper towels into the trash then trailed after her sister. “You deserve something after…everything.”

                “Chocolate tortes aren’t going to cover it.” They shared a look, then Trish’s hand slipped under the black cardboard lid and withdrew a gooey mess perched upon her finger tips. She tilted her head back, eyes still on her sister, about to drop the piece of torte into her mouth when she stopped, eyes as round as coins. “This isn’t about that. You…something else is up.” Trish abruptly straightened, carelessly pushing the mangled torte into her mouth, sucking her finger and thumb.

                Jessica waited, part in dread and part in eagerness. She sprawled out on the other end of the couch, propping her shoulders up against the corner.

                “Are you gonna make me guess?” Trish leaned back in the other corner, then dug her bare feet under Jessica’s outstretched thigh. “Ok, let me put my talk-radio skills to the test!”

                Lids dropping over watchful eyes, Jessica barely maintained the air of indifference.

                “Let’s see, let’s see…it’s not a bender because you don’t look like a wreck. Not a fight because you don’t look like the other guy put up much of one. Not a man because you’re still…there’s Luke…hey… _are you blushing_?”

                Jessica bent her knee, freeing her sister’s toes, then scooted up. She wanted to say something but she couldn’t find the words to describe her feelings.

                “Oh my god! That’s it, isn’t it?” Trish clapped her hands, the triumphant smile at once giving way to confusion. “But…you really, really…I mean, Luke is…” Trish’s voice gently died as her eyebrows furled in concentration. She was no longer looking at Jessica but inward, rearranging pieces. Finally she nodded, then said, “You met a new guy and you like him.”

                “No. _No._ ” Jessica hugged her own knees, not afraid, only at a loss until she blurted, “A girl.” Making a face, she corrected, “A woman. I dunno. Whatever.”

                Trish rolled her eyes. “I was shocked the first time you told me in tenth grade. So you kissed another female, so what, blah-blah-blah.”  

                “We didn’t kiss.” At Trish’s arching brows, Jessica rushed, “Not that either!”

                “Okay, just tell me what’s on your mind because I’m not seeing how this rates as a chocolate torte conversation.”

                The smile moved across Jessica’s face like the sun rising over the horizon. “Well, she doesn’t, not really, she’s just part of the trouble, I guess.”

                Words came haltingly at first as she searched for ones that would reach Trish’s heart the fastest. The comfort was there, ever between them, built on the shared experience of living under the same roof and raised by a woman that was more power-hungry than nurturing. Trish didn’t move nor look away but Jessica, always so kinetic, played with her hair, changed positions on the couch, sometimes bit her lip when she couldn’t convey what was in her head. At one point, Jessica flopped back upon the cushions, expelling a long breath.

                “So, apparently, I have some sort of misfit instant family if I want it. I know I should but…who wouldn’t want it…”

                “Give yourself some time. It’s not like a question’s been asked.”

                Jessica rested her chin on the top of the couch and stared out the French doors behind them. “I think it’s best that I put Luke…in the past. Right?”

                “He’s not here.”

                Turning back toward Trish, Jessica slumped down in the couch and began investigating a lock of hair for split ends. “Then there’s Madison.”

                A memory clouded Jessica’s eyes, the scent of lavender teasing her nostrils. The air seemed to shimmer around her.

                “Jesus, you’re giving off pheromones like a hamster in heat!”

                Snapped back to the present, Jessica grimaced. “You could have said gorilla, lion, _a fuckin’ rhino_ —“

                “Those examples are disturbingly male.”

                “ _Hamster?!_ I look like a hamster in heat? Really?!” Jessica stopped further comment with an upraised hand. “Never mind. Let’s just move past this hamster comparison.”

                “Okay, just to move this along, wanna go with lioness? Prowling the open plains of the Serengeti, sweltering heat rising, whiskers twitching and head rising when she catches _the scent_ —“

                “Please stop.”

                “Then go find this woman, do her, and get it out of your system! Or forget about her! Stop being such a girl!”

                “I…masturbated—“

                Trish shot up off the couch and immediately covered her ears. “TMI! What the hell is wrong with you?”

                Jessica, trying not to laugh, stood up and began singing, “ _’I don’t want any-body else.._ ’”

                Turning red with suppressed laughter, Trish backed away, extending her arms out in front of her. “You’re such an asshole. Please, I’m sorry, I’m sorry just don’t sing that damn song!”

                “ _I’m Patsy, the clown and I do all the boys in town…_ ”

                Trish groaned. It was obvious Jessica still had a little ‘The Voice’ wannabe in her. She paraded around the living room, making up dirty rhymes to torment Trish but Trish steadfastly refused to show how funny it all was.

                “She does something to me.” Jessica abruptly stated, expression devoid of the recent frivolity. “I’m like some horny boy with his dick in his hand around her.”

                “That’s an awful analogy.”

                “I feel awful…and turned on.”

                Trish waited for the rest.

                “I was a little drunk and pretty mixed up last night. So I went to that club down on Bryant that I go to, you know, when I wanna let off a little steam? I’m on the dancefloor, into the music then I feel this hand on my waist. That’s what I went there for.” Jessica shrugged, looked down at the floor, then admitted quietly, “I didn’t care whose hands they were…until—until her hand was in the front of my jeans and her mouth on my neck and _Jesus!_ ”

                “It was zero to sixty in a half a second. That’s pretty rare but it happens. Probably says more about your mood than this chick, though.”

                Jessica sat down on the edge of the couch, stared at the fingernails on one hand. “Trish…she was wearing this lavender perfume and then there was that blue streak of hair in the front of all that black straight hair and her eyes were so dark and I just fell into them even if it does sound so lame…”

                Trish looked like she was about to say something then stopped. Finally, she asked, “You gonna see her again?”

                Jessica stood, apparently finished with the conversation. “It’s not like we exchanged numbers, Trish. Besides, I already made up my mind about…it. It was some weird, random thing, not worth gettin’ my panties in a bunch.”

                “Said the girl who masturbated and fell asleep on her couch, probably with her hand still in her pants.”

§

Jessica felt better. The crisp air reddened her cheeks and the tip of her nose. Brilliantly yellow, the sun looked like an egg yolk against the palest of blues. Energy hummed through her. She was on her way to Warren J.’s, without a plan still but unconcerned. Jessica turned the corner, avoided a small gaggle of uniformed school girls, then was overtaken by the rich and bitter aroma of brewing coffee. Not waiting to be told twice by the universe, she ducked in and out of the bistro without a misstep, as if it were Fate. Nose pressed to the plastic opening of the coffee container, the fragrancy of ground coffee beans nevertheless did not overpower a delicate, light thread of lavender. It took mere seconds for the familiar scent to invade Jessica like a virus, curling and spreading within her body. Coffee quickly forgotten, her head snapped up and she looked around, eyes anxiously canvassing. Warm pulses beat faster, carrying awareness through her, a hint of a promise. People milled around her, too much in a hurry to do more than glance at her as they hustled by.

                The thought she may once again see what she only remembered hastened Jessica’s urgency. Slowly she pivoted, more thorough and systematic in the search. The scent grew in strength, drifting its way through her lungs, bursting into her bloodstream. Jessica stopped, at once disappointed and victorious when she spotted the flower display several feet away. She went directly to the street vendor.

                “How you doin’? Two for twenty but for you I’ll knock it down a few bucks!”

                Jessica smiled, eyes roaming the bunches of bright colored flowers in green crepe paper cones. Carnations, roses, wild flowers, baby’s breath, and delicate fronds, a surprising array given such limited space, but no sprigs of lavender. Jessica sniffed.

                “Do you have any lavender?”

                The man scratched his stubbled chin, craning it forward and to the side. Like a pug she once saw, the man snorted in pleasure, carried away with tending every itchy spot. At last he rubbed palms across the skin he scratched, then said, “Don’t think so. Might be mixed in with the wildflower bouquets.”

                She inspected the flowers closely but there were no tiny purple ones clustered on the tip of green stalks. Disappointed, Jessica murmured something appropriate then walked off.  She was surprised when the zing went out of the day. Jessica resolved not to get sidetracked again but, deep down, she knew getting Madison Wu out of her system was already harder than it should have been.  


	6. AKA Bitch that wasn't even Spanish

**_AKA Bitch that wasn’t even Spanish._ **

It was ridiculously easy to get by Warren J’s building security which was a good thing considering Jessica hadn’t given much thought to it. She was feeling a little reckless. Things were getting too touchy-feely of late. Pent up energy surged and snapped and without a target, it turned inward. Jessica needed to work out some aggression. What used to work was no longer available. The scuffle with the Irish guys didn’t count since she had to pull her punches. Anonymous sex didn’t happen since the opportunity decided to leave her on the middle of a dance floor. An alcoholic bender had been promising but a pair of ‘blue balls’ zapped that all to hell. She really needed to do something dangerous, something to remind her heart pumped for a reason. Malcolm’s voice popped into her head but she relentlessly kept silencing it until it was no longer loud enough to influence her conscience.  

                When she came up on the building’s south entrance, a group of people were clustered around the revolving door, waiting, presumably, for the person in front of her. Jessica flipped up the hoodie and walked with them, keeping on the farthest side from the desk. They were led by a man in a chef’s coat the color of burgundy who apparently didn’t go to culinary school but studied under a one-star Michelin chef in New Mexico. Airily he explained the morning’s ‘concept’ as they crossed the lobby, his voice noticeably faltering when they neared the security desk.

                “Hello, Alan.”

                “Hello, Mr. Tems.” Alan didn’t look up from the monitor. “Another breakfast party?”

                Tems motioned for the group to hurry. “Oh, you know me, I love cooking for friends!”

                Jessica followed them into the elevator where Mr. Tems held off questions from the excited group. They went up to the fourth floor and departed, voices climbing over each other like puppies and just as indistinguishable. From what she could understand, Mr. Tems was a ‘self-taught’ chef hosting an underground breakfast, free from the regulatory reach of the FDA and other related agencies. When one of the group, an overly eager foodie, questioned whether they were going to eat baby seal or some such other contraband, nervous giggles were heard all around. Jessica expelled an impatient breath, glad to finally be alone in the elevator car as it rose to Warren J’s floor. She kept her head from looking up, regretting not exiting with the group now that she was isolated on the security camera feed, perhaps appearing suspicious to Alan, the guard. Jessica leaned against the back railing, arms crossed and head down, to give the impression she was a bored passenger without an agenda other than riding the elevator. Soon enough the loud chime sounded and the doors were sliding open.

                No one was in the corridor but Jessica noted a recessed black dome in the ceiling above the small elevator foyer. She turned right, surreptitiously watching the door letters until she arrived at Warren J’s. When she reached for a set of keys, she pressed down on the fob button which should disrupt the security alarms long enough for her to get what she needed and get out. She made a show of inserting the key but Jessica used her strength to twist the door knob, literally breaking it. In what she hoped was a fluid movement she then pressed against the door in such a way that the dead bolt and chain were cleanly snapped. Had the door and doorjamb been made of wood she doubted it would have gone quite so smoothly what with splinters flying every which way, undeniable evidence she was breaking in and she was freakishly strong. Quickly she shut the door behind her. The clock was ticking furiously, a handful of minutes at most before security would check on the electronic disruption on the tenth floor. Hopefully the fob did its job and created a burst of power to surge through nearby systems, like a magnetic downpour lasting a few seconds, just a blip on any screen and not strong enough to disable larger systems or ones beyond the small radius.

                Jessica ran through the apartment and quickly located Warren J’s office. She went straight to the desk, looking for a laptop and found one in the bottom drawer. Quickly she scooped it up then hurried to the window where the fire escape was located. Straddling the windowpane with one foot in and one out, she heard Alan calling through the door. Immediately, Jessica jammed the slim laptop into the front of her pants and scrambled up to the roof on the fire escape. She didn’t look back and didn’t look down. When she reached the top, Jessica ran then launched herself off the ledge and onto the roof top somewhat below the one she just vacated. Softly, she landed, a little surprised but pleased nonetheless that her flying skills were definitely improving. It didn’t take long at all for her to make her way down the new building and drop off a fire escape into an alley. Despite the chill, Jessica dumped the hoodie, not without a look of regret because it was her favorite. As she walked out of the alley, hair tucked up in a ball cap and laptop now under her arm like a book, she blended into the crowd that was going away from Warren J’s building.  She attuned her ears for sirens or shouts, walking with purpose as was everyone else, in a going-to rather than getting-away-from kind of way. When she rounded the corner, Jessica took the stairs down to a subway station, flashed a MetroCard and was on the train to the WTC where she would hop a PATH to New Jersey.

                It wasn’t very crowded by New York standards. Thankfully she sank down on a seat but didn’t look around because only a mark looked around. The MetroCard balance, displayed on the turnstiles every time she swiped, was getting low and she was going to have to remember to increase it when she returned to New York. It didn’t take long to travel under the Hudson River to the Grove Street Station. She popped out from underground, feebly sheltered by the metal pavilion-style shelter over the stairs. A few people were standing around the metal bike racks or sitting on the low concrete wall that outlined a part of the circular brick square. Oddly enough, no one sat on the black wrought iron chairs that were set around the small matching tables.

                Jessica hurried west a few blocks then ducked down a street lined with squat brick buildings that had stairs leading up to the doors like other ones found in most sprawling metropolises. A few large trees casted token shadows upon the cracked cement sidewalks. Here and there green vines spread upward from cracks between brick and mortar, usually sprouting near a drainpipe or beneath an AC window unit. Cables sadly drooped from the evenly spaced utility poles that were planted along the sidewalk, linking them like country fence posts. Every so often a fan of thinner, more taut cables sprang from a post and attached themselves to nearby buildings, shooting through branches and leaves when an ambitious tree dared to rise too high.

               The building she was looking for was a modest two-story made of tan bricks with a simple gray concrete stoop whose steps faced to the sides instead of the street. At one time it had been a Pentecostal church as evidence by the simple lightbox sign above the door. Jessica slowed as it came into view. Years had passed since she saw it last but the building hadn’t really changed. The metal bars over the lancet windows had been painted recently, none too well for drips of paint dotted the walk and flaky bits remained stubbornly fastened where the surface should have been smooth. Across the lightbox sign above the lettering someone had scrawled **‘** ** _ElectronixRepair_** ‘ with a thick black magic marker.   Jessica smirked a little then jerked open the door. A metal bell clanged against the glass causing her to be a little less forceful with closing it behind her.

              “How’s it goin’?” asked the young male behind the counter that spanned across the entire back length of the place. He was bent forward, tattooed arms crossed on top of the counter to support his weight.

              Before she answered, Jessica’s eyes swept along the long display case, the wainscoted wall behind the counter and quickly checked the ceiling corners.

              “Is Ramon working today?” She tried not to outwardly react when she continued as naturally as possible. Jessica gathered her hair to one side, moved in a little closer. Pouting until she was sure she had his attention, she whispered huskily, “Because he lays pipe like Exxon.”

             “Uh, yeah, ok, lemme check in the back.” He pointed vaguely behind him before turning away, the look on his face caught between confusion and humor.

             While she waited, Jessica leaned against the counter, resting one elbow on the top and stared through the glass at the ITouches, IPods, various digital readers, smartphones, and a slew of other small gadgetry.

              “Come on in the back.” He instructed, red-faced but maintaining a passable neutral expression.

              She strode into the darkened and cold work area with a lot less hesitation than when she entered the building. A few Latinos were seated at narrow work benches, high-voltage gooseneck lamps and magnifiers positioned to work on a variety of handhelds. Metal shelves lined the wall to her left, mostly holding cardboard boxes and hard plastic organizers with hundreds of drawers for smaller parts. Past the work area there was a break room with a picnic table and benches, a microwave, sink and mini-fridge. Jessica saw the rusted bare metal door a few feet away.

              “Ramon’s in there.”

              Jessica frowned and was inwardly amused when the man stepped back then hurried off.

              “Damn, you look _good_ mija.”

              “Your code words suck and _don’t_ make a joke about that!”

              Brusquely they hugged. “Sit down, sit down.”

              Jessica carefully sat on the metal folding chair and looked at the thickset woman behind the desk.   Ramona Sanchez was wearing a Disney t-shirt, the decal cracked and faded. Her short curly hair framed cherubic features.

              “I watched you the whole time, on the video.” Ramona motioned to the small monitor on the desk. “I nearly peed when I hear you say—“

              “You have a twisted sense of humor.” Jessica handed over the laptop. “I have no idea what’s on there, what kinda encryption. Just unlock everything. Pay attention to the internet history, get all the accounts and download the contents. Do the financials last because I need everything yesterday and that shit takes so long.   There’s a small window here since he’s going to know sooner rather than later that his laptop’s compromised. Oh, and recover the deletes!”

              A torrent of Spanish was unleashed into the small space as Ramona gesticulated with an economy of movement. Jessica smiled, shifted in her seat, only understanding bits and pieces but enough to know she was being berated for a perceived insult.

             “When you’re finished let’s go have lunch.”

             Ramona grimaced. “Damn, mija, I wasn’t even finished and I was on’a roll, too. You was wrong for that, you know, right? You aint gotta tell me my shit!” Finally she smiled then said, “Hey, let’s go to the falafel house—“

             “We _always_ go there!” Jessica protested, like the hundred other times before and only because it was expected.

             “You know I like the dude behind the counter. He so _sexy_! Like that Dos Equis man, _hermoso_!”

              Jessica stood. “Yeah, yeah, _muy caliente_ , _s’il vous plait_ and blah-blah-blah. I’m starving. Let’s go.”

             “Bitch, that wasn’t even Spanish.”

§

Because it was such a nice day, albeit on the cool side, they decided to walk. Jessica listened as Ramona spoke about what she was going to order, about the man she had a crush on, and other commonplace things, never too detailed or revealing. They weren’t friends, exactly, but were friendly towards one another. The minute Jessica brought drama to Ramona’s door, their association would be severed, never to be repaired.

                “If all goes right, Joey will have your order be done by the time we get back.”

                “Good.” Jessica stumbled over a large crack in the sidewalk. “Shit.”

                “I know. I always look back too, give it one of my mean looks, like the sidewalk broke on purpose just to trip me up.” When Jessica slid her a glance, Ramona continued, “No, hey, it’s okay, okay? Go on, give it what for, chica. No shame in it. Better yet, maybe you just should like pick the fucker up and set it back down right!”

                Jessica stopped walking.

                Ramona put her hands up and explained, “Word gets around, damn. You can’t go tossing cars aside and shit and not expect to get _talked_ about! I know some bangers scared shitless you gonna run into ‘em.”

                Reluctantly Jessica resumed walking. The reality began to become clearer but there wasn’t anything short of leaving the city she could do about it. Sooner or later, if she kept using her unique talents, someone was going to pull her from obscurity.

                “I aint gonna tell nobody.”

                Jessica spared the woman a long look then nodded. “You’ve always been discreet.”

                “That’s good business but…” Ramona’s large brown eyes opened innocently wide. “…can I ask a question?”

                They arrived at front steps of the Falafel Hut then stopped.

                “Okay.”

                A few people brushed past them, either on their way in or out. Ramona huddled closer. “You break many dicks with your thing?”

                “You’re deeply disturbed. I don’t know how I missed that.”

                Ramona started up the steps. “I get that a lot.”

                As soon as they walked in Jessica could smell the chick peas and herbs. Behind a plastic partition a man stood feeding a grinder by dumping white buckets filled with pale garbanzo beans into the slide trap. Two young boys were working the fryers, dropping green balls into the bubbling oil.

                “Hello, welcome, welcome and what is your pleasure today?”

                Jessica’s eyes cut to Ramona’s face who wore an almost coquettish expression.

                “Two number fives, please.”

                Leaning in, Jessica whispered, “You know you’re not sixteen anymore, right?”

                Still smiling, Ramona hissed, “Fuck you, puta.”

                “Ah, Ramona, my friend, it is good to see you!”

                “Yeah, like she doesn’t come here every damn day.” Jessica murmured as she made a show of examining the fingernails on one hand.

                Ramona wedged herself between the counter and Jessica, effectively pushing the other woman in the background but Jessica wasn’t so far away she couldn’t hear their conversation. Evidently, the Falafel man was named Nadir, his two sons worked the fryers and received high marks on their exams, and he was thinking of putting a pinto bean falafel version on the menu with a jalapeno yogurt cream sauce. The conversation was far from scintillating and accordingly Jessica tuned them out. She decided to claim a table and gently touched Ramona on the way over. Without pause, Ramona acknowledged Jessica with a limp wave.

                It was impressive, how clean the place looked. Intimate but not cramped, it utilized all the free space without feeling like an over-packed gas station. Jessica snagged a table by the window, glad to be inside since she was only wearing a long-sleeved t-shirt. The sun poured in and she sat in a patch of it. She took off the ball cap then ran her fingers through the matted mess, soothing the itchy scalp. Chin poised on the heel of her hand, gazing out and relaxed, Jessica let her eyes drift closed. No distractions erupted to drag her from the lassitude. She allowed her thoughts free range, content to ease up on the controls. There wasn’t anything specific Jessica thought about. She enjoyed the sunlight on her face, the smell of food, the soft instrumental music. A few precious minutes devoted to simply being. No moral dilemmas, plans, worries and, in particular, no thoughts of desire…but as soon as that thought popped into her head, it stayed.

                _Madison Wu._ Jessica tried to frown away what was building inside her head. She opened her eyes, blinking against the light and tried to mentally re-center. Like a stone tossed into a pond, thinking the woman’s name broke the surface calm. She couldn’t reconnect with the languid, restorative mood. Thoughts happened. Lots of them, popping in her brain. Determined, she swept them away before they could be fully formed but she knew, she felt it. Jessica squirmed in her chair, looked back at Ramona. It was like she made no progress through the queue since Jessica left her. A heavy breath blew between her lips. She began to tap her nails against the tabletop, crossed and uncrossed her legs which only made it worse.

                “What’s the matter with you?”

                Jessica’s head snapped up. “What? Nothing.” She scowled, reaching for her food.

                “You didn’t say what you wanted so I got you some kinda flavored water Nadir makes. It has persimmon in it.”

                The plastic basket held a pita pocket stuffed with falafel, hummus, arugula, tomatoes and cucumbers and nestled against a pile of crispy fries. There was a side of tzatziki sauce. Jessica picked up the tiny paper cup. Ramona explained it was Nadir’s special rift on the recipe, nearly swooning.

                “Where’s the lemon slices?” Jessica asked around a mouthful of falafel.

                “I’ll get it, I’ll get it.”

                Ramona was up and gone before Jessica could object.

                Conversation consisted of grunts and small groans and little pig noises when Ramona reappeared. They ate with gusto, Ramona more so, sometimes forgetting she was in public as the appreciative moans intensified with each bite.

                “Seriously, you sound like a slut, Ray.”

                “Shit’s gooooood.”

                “Is this your fucked up version of ‘When Harry Met Sally’?”

                Ramona swallowed. “That’s a white girl movie.”

                “See, you’re racist.”

                “Okay, okay, I gotta explain somethin’ to you. Obviously you don’t—“

                “Please. I beg you.” Jessica squeezed a lemon slice over the fries, shook some pepper on them. “Stop speaking.”

                Ramona mumbled something under her breath, making aggrieved faces. Jessica suppressed a laugh by stuffing a wad of fries into her mouth then nearly choked.

                “Damn, mija, take it easy. You’re like a virgin bride the first time she gave head.”

                Ramon proceeded to demonstrate a better technique which only made Jessica stop eating altogether.

                “You really know how to ruin a good meal.”

§

The PATH train back took longer and was more crowded. Jessica grasped the pole with one hand and held a book-like device pressed against her chest with the other. Most of the commuters weren’t workers but party-goers in search of a popular bar or restaurant in the city. Grouped in pairs of twos or more, they excitedly chatted about the evenings’ plans, who would show and who wouldn’t, whether the establishment merited five stars on Yelp or not. The new coat she bought at the small shop around the corner of the PATH station didn’t really fit her slight build but it kept out the chill for which Jessica was grateful. As soon as she got home she’d give it to Malcolm although it probably wouldn’t fit him any better.

                When she disembarked Jessica clutched the hard drive tighter, cutting through the crowd with admirable precision. It was almost five o’clock, still early but later than she would have preferred. Jeri had already texted her twice and one Jessica responded to, assuring her that she might have something tonight. If the laptop was clean, she wasn’t sure digging further would be beneficial. It stood to reason that Warren J.’s only tangible fear was what his wife would or could possibly discover so, the encryption wouldn’t be too extensive. Rivals or enemies wouldn’t register on his radar as far as his personal laptop contents. Infidelity, tax evasion, kinky fetishes, ambitions, and all things deemed unsavory would be on the personal computer. Ramona had slipped the hard drive into another case so it looked like a stand-alone storage device. The rest of the laptop was being ‘refurbished’ then reintroduced for a profit. All she had to do when she got home was plug it in the USB port of her own laptop. Warren J would be worried about bank accounts and credit cards, the mortgage and 401ks and, as an afterthought, perhaps email accounts. While they were having lunch, Joey had managed to download all the pertinent data. Surprisingly, he even succeeded in pulling a bank account sans the wife’s name which always was a score for someone in Jessica’s position.

                She was a little cautious exiting the station. Chances were excellent the police weren’t looking for her. They wouldn’t expend too much energy for a laptop theft and it was unlikely Warren J. had the right downtown connections from whom he could finagle a favor. She didn’t think he was into anything truly egregious for the only reason that Jeri didn’t already have something on him. Jeri swam in all types of waters but she only concerned herself with sharks whose teeth were sharper than her own.

                From Tribeca she jumped on a train headed to her neighborhood and was running into her apartment building by six-fifteen. Predictably, Malcolm was prone on the couch, a cloth over his face. He stirred when she entered, raised an arm then pointed somewhat upward. Jessica took it for a sign to be patient. Eager to work, she went straight to the desk. A new printer took up some shelf space in the bookcase behind her. Some new office supplies sat next to the printer. Next to the bookcase, a green file cabinet now stood. The additions were noted with a growing respect. She wondered how far he got with his laptop and was mildly surprised she was looking forward to seeing what he had done.

                Jessica slid into the rickety chair and began to dig. It was grueling work mentally. She began to doubt she’d uncover anything anytime soon. Malcolm J. had several hundred software applications he used to organize, prioritize, remind, and remind again. Jessica started with the photo and video files, ignoring family tags at first. Evidently Warren J was a prolific photographer because there were thousands of files. There was a folder that caught Jessica’s eye, named “How-To”. Stereotypically, ambitious career-types living in million dollar lofts hired people to complete any “How-To”s around the home. It could be a folder he dumped all the software application minutiae. Jessica moved it to the side with other prospects that may yield something Jeri would want.

                Time became something measured in stretches and muscle kinks, coffee and bathroom breaks. A piece of her always felt a bit subhuman sorting through the details of a stranger’s life. Whatever she uncovered would most assuredly be used against them. It was easy to chip away at the guilt, think it was their fault for doing bad. Dozens of platitudes supported the stance and, yet, Jessica still experienced a twinge of conscience on every job. Be that as it may, it was the way she earned a living, one that was beginning to prosper.

                “Oh, man, I’m wrecked.”

                Jessica didn’t look up from the screen but said, “Migraine?”

                “Mother of all bitches.”

                “Its…ten o’clock?! Shit.” Jessica leaned back in the chair, clasped her hands behind her head. “Why don’t you go home and get some rest? We can meet up tomorrow morning and swap progress reports.”

                Malcolm simply grunted and left.

§

The desk lamp was the only illumination in the room. Weary, Jessica stood and walked over to crack the window open. Cold but not windy, it was a perfect night to grab a sweatshirt, something warm to drink and sit out on the fire escape. She hoisted the window farther upward then placed a metal bar under it to keep it open. As she started across the room, Jessica heard the text alert/vibration on her phone. She decided she’d grab it on the way back. There was an NYU sweatshirt on a hanger that she pulled off, idly wondering where it came from but not really caring. A small bottle of Wild Fowl was strategically placed on the dresser so she couldn’t help but see it. Jessica slowly picked it up, staring without seeing then pushed the bottle into the waistband of her jeans. It was possible Malcolm understood her very well, she realized.

                Once settled on the plastic sheathed cushion, legs stretched out and back against the building, Jessica opened the bottle and took a long drink. The city was active, of course, but somehow removed, the sounds and energy floating instead of slicing. Tension slowly ebbed out of her as she half-closed her eyes and took another drink. Forgotten, the phone in her back pocket reestablished relations when it stubbornly sounded an alert.

**_I should have stayed at the club._ **

                Texts from unknown numbers happened to Jessica. In her line of work, it was routine. Besides, the phone number was on her business listings. This one wasn’t business. It ripped out the breath she was about to take. Instantly everything faded away except the memory. Her body required little prompting for a ripple of awareness travelled through it like the tide. With trembling fingers, she responded.

**_Who is this?~J._ **

**_You know._ **

**_Yes. ~J_ **

                When the scent of lavender filled Jessica’s nose, panic and excitement raised the hairs on her nape and arms. Though she tried to staunch the flow, the need was acute and suddenly, she knew exactly how Malcolm felt every time he was tempted. Because her body was infused with desire. The stronger the scent became the more aroused her body. Biting back a tiny moan, she tried to fight it.

**_Do you have a point? ~J_ **

**_Look above you._ **

                Jessica obeyed, standing up and searching . A tremor went through her thigh muscles, down to the calves, signaling they were eager to flex and strain if Madison Wu was involved. Crazy, exhilarating thoughts zigzagged in her head. Taped to the bottom of the platform was a pair of small binoculars. Jessica reached up and pulled it free, peeling away the strips of tape. She looked around but didn’t know what she was looking for, only who, and Jessica didn’t immediately see her.

**_Use them. Look straight across, 3L-1D_ **

                Mouth dry, her heart a painful beat in her chest, Jessica adjusted the binoculars, looked at the window directly across from her and counted three windows to the left and one down. Madison Wu waved at her. Jessica swallowed air, gritted her teeth. Hard questions like how Madison knew where she lived and how did she come to be in an apartment across the street imploded in Jessica’s head. At the moment, Jessica didn’t care because a half-starved need was wearing her down. Madison was wearing a black jacket, short and fitted at the waist, zipper dangerously low and Jessica’s eyes were hooked. Leaning slightly out of view, Madison picked something up. Seconds later, Jessica’s phone went off.

**_Sit down and watch._ **

                Legs suddenly no longer quite so powerful, Jessica sagged downward, one arm blindly extended to brace against something solid. Through the lens watching Madison’s fingers pull the zipper tab all the way down so slowly, Jessica gripped a metal railing spindle for support and bent it. Bracketed by black, Madison’s toned and olive skin solicited so many responses within Jessica, one most prevailing of which being a swift, hot urgency. She watched the shiny red painted fingernails dip behind the material, edging it back to reveal feminine curves. When the jacket fell, it was replaced by long, dark hair. The blurred glimpse of brown, hard tips in the middle of such full softness was burned into Jessica’s mind and her mouth suddenly flooded saliva. The scent of lavender couldn’t be more dominant, soaking her, heady and seductive.

                Strands of black and blue swayed from side to side, hypnotic as the hair brushed against Madison’s flesh. Jessica couldn’t help it, didn’t even realize how compelled she was to do it, but she moved the view to Madison’s face and stopped breathing because those dark almond eyes were looking right back, piercing like they could see inside of her. She couldn’t look away, helplessly ensnared. Then Madison’s full lips curved into a small smile, parting slightly. Capturing the lower lip between white teeth, Madison suddenly flung her head back and something tightly wrapped inside of Jessica unwound. She watched Madison’s slender neck, the ligaments and muscles undulating. The need to press her tongue Madison’s skin hurt.

                Jessica moved the focus again, panning out and what she saw made her stomach muscles forcefully convulse. Madison’s jeans were partially unbuttoned and her hand was firmly working behind the flaps. She stroked herself, lost and impassioned, less of a show and more of an intimacy that was shared. Jessica didn’t know when it changed, really couldn’t grasp the enormity with her blood surging like a swollen river to the ocean. Slowly, the binoculars dropped into her lap. Jessica stood and looked at her phone then at the distance between her and Madison.

                Without further thought, she jumped.


	7. AKA It's me.  Malcolm.

**_AKA It’s me. Malcolm._ **

She flew, not with any finesse, not accurately but she made it across the divide. The landing rattled her teeth. There would be marks, deep ugly purple ones. None of it mattered because Jessica was pulling herself up and over the fire escape railing and finally stood in front of Madison Wu with nothing more than a pane of glass separating them. Jessica’s chest heaved from exertion and excitement. She was prepared for surprise and fear but Madison’s face only showed a feral anticipation, eyes as steady and compelling as candlelight. Slowly she pulled back the swaths of hair shielding her chest, the blue streak flashing then disappearing behind her shoulders. Jessica’s gaze greedily wandered, absorbing the details of a slender neck, straight shoulders and the hollows above each clavicle. Madison’s skin looked smooth and supple over the faint bands of chest muscle, paler over the slopes of her breasts. The faintest hint of lavender hung in the air despite the chilled breeze but Jessica hardly noticed. Instead, her eyes fastened upon small, high nipples that darkened and puckered, rising with every unsteady breath Madison took. The stark lines of Madison’s ribcage crested over the valley of her stomach, disappearing into the shadow of a partially opened zipper. Jessica felt weak with the desire. Her eyes returned to Madison’s face. Something dark passed between them. Madison reached for the window, hair tumbling forward as she turned the latches.

                Jessica climbed in.

                Face to face and alone, neither made a move. Balanced on the precipice between dark and light, danger and safety, each woman understood no one was leaving without some sort of scar. Jessica clenched her hands, either in restraint or frustration, or probably both. She inhaled sharply then moved forward.

                “We can’t.”

                It didn’t register, at first, the rejection behind Madison’s words. Jessica’s eyebrows lowered, the small patch of skin between them compressed. “You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.”

                The anger was swift and hot, pouring into the spaces desire dwelled and the two converged, joined by their similarities. Gritting her teeth, Jessica closed the distance between them but Madison’s hand, fragile upon her chest, had the force to delay the inevitable.

For the first time, Madison didn’t seem in control. The dark eyes staring back at her weren’t the ones from the club nor through the binoculars. They were warmer, softening as if in invitation for Jessica to look deeper. The abrupt change made Jessica shake her head. Vulnerable, Madison looked vulnerable and no matter how justified Jessica felt in holding onto her anger, her grip was weakening. There was a small tremor in the hand that slowly cupped Jessica’s neck. Madison’s thumb rubbed against Jessica’s chin, perilously close to lips that were still infused with the ache to kiss her but less inclined to do so.

                Distracted by the undercurrents, Madison’s tone was vague. “This isn’t my place. I…have no idea when they’ll be back.”

                It was too much after so much.

                Goaded by contradictory impulses, the rational thinking part of Jessica’s brain simply shut down. She wanted to climb out of her skin, howl and rage like something wild. For someone tottering on the brink of frenzy, Jessica’s movements were relaxed, almost tender. Her hand covered Madison’s and guided it downward.

                Madison gasped when her palm met the hard tip of Jessica’s breast.   Her eyes slid shut. A light sheen of sweat erupted over her upper lip. Every point their bodies made contact was a conduit for tremors, flexing muscles, and labored respirations.   The silence enveloped them, broken by irregular breathing and occasional distant sounds city noise.

                Their lips nearly touched as Jessica commanded, “Look at me.”

                Madison’s eyes blinked open then her chest deflated, the escaping air warmly bathing Jessica’s face. The muscle above her jaw was a slash of rigidity across soft skin as she ground her teeth. Anger and arousal glittered in her black eyes. Her fingers tightened around Jessica’s responsive flesh.

                Madison licked her bottom lip. “I want—“

                The rest of what Madison was going to say was swallowed in a rush of parted lips and heated breaths. Whimpering, Madison squirmed closer and hooked a leg over Jessica’s thrusting hips. When Jessica released the hold she had on Madison’s wrists, the arms attached to them wound themselves around Jessica’s neck. Fingers rifled through Jessica’s hair, took hold then yanked her head back. Lips and teeth scraped against the sensitive line of her neck. Breathing came sporadically for Jessica, in soft pants and sharp intakes. Her hands explored the expanse of Madison’s sinuous back, down to the small waist, cupping her ass and lifting her up. Instantly Madison’s legs wrapped around Jessica’s middle. They fell forward, locked together, slamming into the wall.

                 Without warning Madison wrenched her mouth away from Jessica’s and whispered harshly as her hands braced against Jessica’s shoulders, “We need to get out of here.”

                 Comprehension took a minute. While Jessica struggled, Madison took advantage of her dazed condition and quickly put space between them.

                 “Look, it’s not my place ok? I-“

                Jessica shook her head, tried to reach for Madison but wasn’t fast enough. “What are you talking about?” Her voice sounded strange to her own ears, guttural and deep. The haze in her eyes lingered and Jessica rubbed them with the heels of her hands.  

                Madison stooped to retrieve her jacket, shrugged it on and zipped it up. Her voice was shaky as she confessed, “I have no idea who lives here.”

                “What?” Blood still pooled in private places, she was having difficulty in following the conversation. “So, did you like _break in_?”

                “I like to live dangerously.” Amusement glinted in the dark eyes that held Jessica’s. Madison’s slender fingers smoothed an errant strand of Jessica’s hair away from the corner of her mouth. “But I’m not the one ‘able to leap tall buildings in a single bound’, babe. I’m not getting out of here the way I came.”

                Jessica crossed her arms and glared but Madison’s grin grew wider, genuine appreciation transforming her eyes to a warm onyx hue.

                The sound of voices suddenly interrupted them. Someone was at the door.

                Madison leaned closer and whispered in a voice tinkling with delight, “That’s your cue to save me.”

                Stubbornly Jessica didn’t budge.

                The lavender scent was back, a mere wisp but no less heady. Jessica tried to ignore it but soon her lungs were filled, head spinning and the ache spread. Madison closed in, palms rubbing on either side of Jessica’s waist.

                Lips brushing against Jessica’s jawline, Madison breathed, “You know this is exciting.”

                Something swift and powerful shot through Jessica’s genitalia, nearly buckling her knees. Tiny beads of sweat broke out on her forehead, neck and chest. It throbbed within her until she was on the cusp of orgasm then receded as if it had never been. Panting and disoriented, Jessica’s hand reached out and grabbed Madison’s hair.

                “What the fuck was that?” she hissed, none too gently.

                The sound of a lock being opened added to the impending danger.

                Throat exposed, head pulled back, Madison’s fathomless eyes were still able to meet the accusation in Jessica’s. “We’re just starting, aren’t we?”

                The voices got louder. Sounds were coming from the other room making it very apparent the occupants of the apartment had arrived home. Jessica couldn’t make out what they were saying, was only aware that the urge to escape began to beat louder in her ears. Without realizing it, she let go of Madison’s hair and tried to get herself under control but her thoughts were sluggish.

                Madison tenderly planted a kiss on the erratic pulse in Jessica’s neck. “You have a minute or less to decide what you’re going to do.”

                Rational thought and instinct jumbled up in her head. Jessica’s body, poised like a predator, was flooded with endorphins. She gnashed her teeth then grabbed Madison’s wrist and shoved her through the open window, quickly pushing it closed on her way out.

                The main light was turned on in the room they just left. Jessica’s entire body was tense. They had avoided detection but they were still extremely vulnerable to discovery. Crouching in the shadows with Madison protectively behind her, Jessica commanded her brain to formulate a plan. They couldn’t stay on the balcony all night.

                “Climb up on my back and I’ll get us down.”

                Madison’s eyes sparkled madly, the small grin on her face a reckless flag that should have made Jessica rethink the current ‘damsel in distress’ situation. There was no time, however, for second thoughts. Bracing her hands on bended knees, Jessica signaled she was ready.

                Madison was flexible and strong, slim thighs squeezing around Jessica’s middle. She hooked an arm under Jessica’s, fingertips clinging to the natural handholds clavicles provided. Hunched over with her burden, Jessica managed to climb over the railing. While she tried to figure out a safe way down, they dangled, gravity sucking at their feet. Madison’s thighs clung, her torso pressing into Jessica’s back.

                “How long do you think you can keep us right here?”

                Before Jessica could respond, otherwise engaged as she was, Madison’s free hand slid underneath Jessica’s t-shirt.

                “ _What the hell, Madison?!_ ”

                Suspended over concrete several stories down and vulnerable to hundreds of eyes that could witness their predicament at any given time, Jessica felt equal parts terror and exhilaration. Madison’s cold hand moved up the crease of rigid abdominal muscles, fingers pushing past the flimsy sports bra. Jessica’s breath disappeared. The metal railing she clutched began to cut into her hands but it was an inconsequential detail when compared to what Madison’s fingers were doing to her breast, the nipple chiseled by cold and caress.

                “Your skin’s so soft but hard too.” Madison’s breath, moist and warm, puffed out onto Jessica’s neck. “Holding my life in your hands, it’s a rush, isn’t it? So close to being discovered and…” Her voice trailed off as she moved her hand and cupped Jessica between her legs. Jessica’s hips jerked.

Her fingers moved over the damp, stretched fabric, lightly scoring nails across its responsive surface. “Oh, someone _loves_ this.” Her thighs gripped tighter, heels digging into Jessica’s hard thighs.

                A whimper escaped Jessica’s locked jaws. The window they had just went through reopened. A woman’s voice was complaining about how someone could have just walked in and taken everything. Madison’s touch changed, became insistent and fast and so deadly accurate, it was like the material wasn’t a barrier at all. Jessica’s eyes rolled back in her head, mouth soundlessly agape, hips twitching. Madison’s teeth and tongue marked her neck, the heat of it a shock. Another voice joined the woman’s, more masculine but Jessica couldn’t make out the words over the roar in her ears. Their conversation floated above the tangled forms below.

                Jessica managed to hold on and endure Madison’s onslaught. The accumulation of sweat made it worse. She couldn’t hang on indefinitely in spite of the gift. Her energy was being split between orgasm and survival and neither had the upper hand. Detachment, so sorely needed, fled. If Madison were a musician and Jessica her instrument, they were at the crescendo. There was no time to prepare. On instinct and with little choice, she let go.

                They dropped through the air, Madison wrapped around her like an anaconda. The weightless sensation, the rush of air pushing against their skin was exhilarating and terrifying. Jessica curled and rotated her body then forced her limbs wide. She marshalled all her concentration upon slowing down the momentum. Their hair fluttered, no longer pulled back by the freefall. By the time sidewalk cracks came into view, Jessica’s feet were preparing for the landing.

                “You can let go now.”

                Madison jerkily slid off but needed to lean against Jessica’s quaking body.

                “Jesus.” She whispered then laughed, almond eyes alight with fierceness. “I’ve been base-jumping. I’ve been skydiving. But that—“

                They were standing in the middle of a dark alley, safe from prying eyes. Jessica, more recovered than not, took hold of Madison’s shoulders and shook.

                “Who the _fuck_ are you?”

                Where outward aggression wouldn’t have changed Jessica’s determination to find the truth, the scent of lavender insidiously could. Her heartrate was still high, still needed time to calm but it ticked up, a painful thump behind the ribcage.

                “Does it really matter?”

                Jessica growled, pushed Madison away. Wildly she looked around as she battled for some sort of control. “What kinda power do you have, Madison? I know you—you can make me feel turned on and I smell lavender and when it’s strong—“

                Softly she made a sound meant to alieve Jessica’s distress. “I can’t manufacture feelings.”

                “You can manipulate them, though, right? Jesus, Madison, _stop_ with the lavender already.”

                But Madison didn’t listen and as if to make a point or press an advantage, she dialed it up a notch. Jessica struggled with the desire, her body and mind protesting. Instead of the high flood of want pounding through her veins, Madison switched tactics, becoming slow and purposeful. Jessica felt boneless. Heart beating hard but not fast.   The urgency was missing. In its place was a surety, an acceptance. Madison didn’t try to conquer; she invited and acknowledged. Jessica’s mind relaxed, her eyes drifted closed. She felt safe.

                “We will have our time together, Jessica Jones.”

                When she opened her eyes, Madison was gone.

§

There was always a place to buy alcohol in the city that never sleeps. Completely screwed up, Jessica’s main goal was to get a big bottle, lock herself up in the apartment and drink herself into oblivion. Without much delay, she made it back to her empty home carrying the bottle like a trophy. It was cold inside, a draft billowing the curtain over the window. Jessica ground her teeth. She marched across the room and shut it, eyes resolutely refusing to find the window where Madison had once stood.

                Her hands shook even before the first drink. The cap skittered across the floor, rolling under a piece of furniture. Nothing left to do but upend the bottle and wait. So, that’s what Jessica did to chase away the painful past and present. Yet, she knew it was coming, the darkness, the inevitable spiral that always lurked in the shadows, waiting for an opportunity to kidnap her. Those Kilgrave memories had a long and powerful reach but, if she were honest, it was the PTSD that really came for her. Her heart skipped beats. Nerve synapses crackled with rapid transmissions. The freefall did it, reawakened Jessica’s anxiety and fear. Helplessness lodged in her throat and despite how many times she swallowed, it wouldn’t go down. Trembling, Jessica drank from the bottle. The room shrank. She thought she heard a noise in the dark and blindly twisted her body away from where she thought it came. Alcohol sloshed onto the floor as the bottle fell from her hand. There was a very small piece of her that realized she was about to have another episode but it was weak, silenced by the phantoms in her head. On hands and knees she crawled through the whiskey puddle. The bottle rocked, its contents like a miniature replica of an amber ocean.

                Scrambling to her feet, she made her way into the bathroom, locking the door behind her. She yanked down the shower curtain but the rod didn’t hold and it came crashing down into the tub. Convinced there was a presence lurking near, Jessica swung out, her fist connecting with the mirror. The sound was a reminder, a trigger. When she looked at her bleeding hand, Jessica was back in the past with Kilgrave and that’s when she started to scream.

                Not much time after, Malcolm came bursting through the door, panic-stricken. Jessica didn’t see him but saw someone. The terror in her eyes, the way her body shrank from him were signs he recognized if not understood from his days of drug delusions. Very carefully he backed away, palms displayed like twin white flags. If Jessica was out of her head, he didn’t want to look like a threat or target.

                “It’s me. Malcolm.”

                His eyes darted to the red speckles and streaks, the mirror splinters and pieces. Fear shot through him and he experienced a second of retreat. Like a Hitchcock movie, all the threats never came into full view for very long. It was the things that came out of nowhere, swooping down unexpectedly that made Jessica’s face contort with panic. He backed up, one step at a time, eyes never leaving hers. Hoarse and finally too heavy to carry, Jessica’s screams tapered off but the crunch of shattered glass beneath his feet set her off again. The sounds she made were horrible like a dying animal in a trap. He could do nothing but stand witness and felt nothing but compassion. If she decided to make a run for it or lash out, Malcolm realized she could hurt him, perhaps badly. Yet, he could not walk away for how many times had she picked him up and carried him to the safety of his home? How many times had she stuffed money into his shirt pocket, pressed it into his palm? She had stood between him and complete destruction too many times for Malcolm to abandon her.

                So, he stood watch, made plans in his head and waited for her to return.

§

Jessica kept busy in the next few weeks. Yancy Price’s ex-partner, Guillermo, had been shacked up with a Cuban maid in Miami.   The money he stole from their upscale bakery business had only been so much and not enough to finance the lifestyle Yancy’s indulgence had provided. It was the typical, sad story. Jessica left it to Malcolm to break the news to Yancy and collect the remainder of the balance due. Mary Agnes’s case lost steam, particularly after Jessica had stormed out of the room on the night she had made dinner. Malcolm had persuaded Jessica to return the down payment despite Mary Agnes’ wish to no longer pursue Viktor’s infidelity. Usually she wouldn’t return a deposit but she counted it well lost if she would never have to see Mary Agnes again. Malcolm, on the other hand, still kept in contact but he visited her, knowing Jessica would not abide the other woman’s presence. It was a sore spot between them but one they agreed to leave well enough alone.

                Leamon Durst’s quest to find the missing poetry student, while rather noble and romantic, crossed the finish line dead last. She had dropped out of college to live with one of her brother’s friends who got a job in Alaska. Apparently, upon hearing the predictable news, Leamon burst into tears, swearing against future involvement with all women. When Malcolm tried to wheedle a portion of Leamon’s retainer back, Jessica threatened to punch him, reminding him they were hired to obtain information which they did. How that information effected the client wasn’t any of their business.

                Jeri wasn’t completely satisfied with the things Jessica uncovered about Warren J. He was actually kind of normal. Although, his penchant for collecting videos of men jerking off in public places clashed with his public persona. When she came across the selfies, Jessica couldn’t help but laugh. Warren J was quite the spunk-monkey. Videos of him whacking off on the subway and on a hill in Central Park in broad daylight seemed to be his most favorite but one video, among the hundreds, stood out too much to be ignored. Warren J. filmed himself masturbating at a park, swings and teeter-totter in full view. Jessica was willing to bet it was coincidence but she knew Jeri wasn’t going to spin it that way. She didn’t need to prove Warren J was a pedophile, only that it was possible. Jessica’s conscience tugged at her, of course it did, but she passed it along to her client anyway.

                No jobs were currently on the books but Malcolm did have a few meetings lined up. There was a tidy sum in the bank account, peanut butter in the pantry, and the bills were all caught up. Life appeared to be running on a steady course finally. She went out to lunch with Trish or the movies with Malcolm. Sometimes she roamed the streets, camera in hand, looking through the lens at the world. Despite the outward normalcy, Jessica’s life was hanging by a thread. Ever since that night Malcolm watched her with one foot out the door. She couldn’t blame him. How he found her would have been traumatic for anyone. They never spoke of it but it was always there between them, sometimes glue and sometimes a wall. When it became bad, Jessica left, doling out casual excuses for abruptly leaving with impressive sincerity.

                She lost sleep and made apologies, always careful to keep the anger, the despair in check around the people who loved her. Occasionally she would receive a text from Madison but she blocked every number they came from in hopes of fighting the need to see her. Because Jessica did want to see her again, was sick with the craving. Madison had special abilities and had used them on her which was enough for Jessica to sever ties. But. The scent of lavender hadn’t crossed her nostrils since that night and Jessica had to believe her desire for Madison was real and not something Madison conjured for the sake of amusement. It wasn’t love, at least not in the traditional sense but it was just as potent and Jessica was torn asunder by it. That was enough reason to leave it alone. Whatever Madison’s motivations or feelings, Jessica was determined to never cross paths again.

                Soon the time would come for Jessica to get help of the professional kind. Trish as good as told her it was the only way to fight. It wasn’t that Jessica didn’t believe her. God knew Trish was a better person for going through therapy. She was evidence personified but Jessica couldn’t take the step, not while other options spread out before her like a useless banquet of plastic food positioned for a photo-op. Wasting time never looked so good, she knew, but courage was elusive. For now, going through the motions seemed to work.


	8. AKA  You still same!

**_AKA You still same!_ **

 

It was sometime late in the morning when Jessica, squinting against the sun, shimmied into a pair of jeans. The taste in her mouth was part sour whiskey and part self-destruction. Behind her eyes, pain and pressure maintained a steady cadence, mementoes from the binge drinking that started the day before. She wasn’t sure why she woke up without any pants on and wearing only one boot but she could guess. The wish to do so, however, eluded her. The guy sprawled across the bed was the next clue in long list of forgettable clues as to what probably happened. A cursory glance around revealed enough. Somewhere under the mess was her other boot. So Jessica focused on that and began haphazardly picking items up and flinging them over her shoulder.

                “Good morning, sunshine.”

                The voice was raspy, its familiarity yet another reason to hurry. She didn’t bother to look up, procrastinating.  

                “Not a morning person, huh?”

                Jessica toed a small pile of clothes at the foot of the bed. “You’re not a rocket scientist either, are you?”

                “Well, last night—“

                “Yeah, yeah, yeah, it was magical and you were a stud, yadda, yadda, yadda.” Finally she looked up, beyond ready to leave.

                He wasn’t impressive. All bones and limp skin, no muscle mass. Laying on his back, hands behind his head, he watched her with a half-smirk on thin lips. The prerequisite chin hair was present but his cheeks were free of stubble. There was a fuzzy tattoo over his left pectoral, a name or phrase that incorporated so many curlicues it looked like a kid’s doodling. Unfortunately, the sheet didn’t hide the rest of him. Not one of her finer selections, to be sure, but, with a philosophical shrug, Jessica let it rest where it had fallen. Self-introspection could wait or happen not at all.  

                “Who were _you_ with?”

                Jessica’s eyes narrowed. She took a step closer and really looked at him.

                “You don’t remember last night, do you, sunshine? Hey, look, I got nothin’ against women taking the lead but you, _you_ , sunshine are another level of control freak.” Sitting up, he leaned back on one arm. With his other hand, he started scratching his belly and moving lower. “You wanna do it again before you leave?”

                Jessica shook her head, swallowed back a burning bubble of vomit.    “I just want my boot.”

                The sound of a wheezing mattress drew her eyes. He settled back, pulled up the sheet, then folded his pillow in half.

                “It’s probably under the bed.”

                Jessica checked, not really surprised when she found it. The damage was done but being so near such a bad decision felt like rubbing her face in it. Quickly, she yanked the boot on, coming close to toppling over.

                “Got your phone? I’m not gonna be around for a few days…”

                Gritting her teeth, she checked the pockets of her jeans. Keys in the front, driver’s license and phone in the back, she possessed everything she needed to leave. Under the circumstances, all she could do was nod at the stranger half-asleep on the bed and walk away. The door shut easily behind her.

A woman was waiting at the elevator, eyes focused on Jessica but head positioned toward the closed metal doors. When Jessica stood nearby, the woman angled her body as if preparing to flee or fight.

                “You might want to clean yourself up, you know, before going out in public.”

                Jessica sneered at the woman then reached for her phone in the back pocket. Frowning, she read a few texts from an unknown number and listened to a voicemail from Trish. When the doors opened, she noticed how the other woman scrunched herself up in the farthest corner away from her. Jessica put the phone away then tried to tame her hair but her fingers kept encountering knots. The last thing she wanted to do was see her reflection in the mirrored wall. A dull film covered it but she saw everything she needed to see.

                “Shit.”

                Jessica peered into the mirror again, tried to wipe away the raccoon eyes. She pinched her cheeks but the skin refused to cooperate and remained as pale as ever. It wasn’t a mystery, what she looked like after a night of jagged thoughts and broken emotions. All part of the package, she knew, so there was no use in trying to hide it or minimize the damage. Jessica would just have to tough it out, make the walk of shame however she could.

                “Look, I got a mint and a rubber band if you want.”

                The woman didn’t look afraid as she extended a palm toward Jessica but she didn’t look friendly either. Regardless, Jessica wasn’t in a position to be uppity. Without meeting the stranger’s gaze, she muttered an appropriate response and slowly took what was offered. Amazing what a rubber band and mint could do for a person’s morale and there was a piece of Jessica that wanted to hug the woman but she was sure that just a drunk’s reflex.

                When she reached the street, the sun was so bright Jessica reacted like a vampire and nearly hissed. She hated that she hadn’t taken her purse out with her but sunglasses were unlikely to be among the junk she toted around. For some unknown reason, she could never keep a hold of a pair as they seemed to grow legs and walk away. Not much left to do but make a mad dash toward the nearest subway station and figure out which line would take her home.

§

Malcolm looked horrified when she came through the door. He was on the phone but stopped talking as she came closer. Abruptly he ended the call, leaving the phone on the desk as he stood up and slowly walked toward her.

                “What happened?”

                So many answers bombarded her brain, Jessica couldn’t respond right away. “I had a really good time, that’s what happened.”

                “Yeah, well, I know that look.”

                “You’re on the clock, peon, so don’t piss me off.” Jessica yanked off her shirt as she went into the bedroom, then tossed it on the floor.

                “Ms. Hogarth sent an email. She wants a meeting…”

                “You’ve seen my tits before, Malcolm, so shut your mouth already.”

                He was standing by the door, hands clasped behind his back, a light blush painting his cheeks. His brown eyes didn’t look away until her hands went to the pant’s button and zipper.

                “We can talk when you’re done.”

                Jessica laughed as she shucked the jeans but there was little mirth in the sound. Under the hot spray of water, she felt a little more human and less like a shame sponge. Plumes of steam filled the shower stall, enveloping her in a misty shroud. She opened her mouth and let the water fill it, let it bounce off her face. When she worked the bar of soap between her hands, Jessica inhaled the scent of lavender. Her body remembered, nerves springing to life. Whether it was the water temperature or the rapid pulse of her blood, Jessica felt suddenly flushed. Knees a little weak, she leaned back against the tile away from the showerhead. Without the sluicing water, the suds built into foamy clouds that clung to her skin. A ripple traveled through her body, from shoulders to toes, making her slightly flex her shoulders. The feeling was back and wound through her muscles, pulling tight. Jessica dropped the soap, hands immediately sliding across skin. Behind her closed eyes, she saw Madison’s face. Lavender inundated the shower. Something close to elation pounded in Jessica’s chest, stronger than the aftereffects of alcohol and lack of sleep. For weeks she denied herself, tried to divert and dilute the craving. Thinking the most debased act would somehow usurp Madison’s hold on her, Jessica had willingly sought out any and all candidates but none had come close to appeasing the hunger.

                The scented soap got her off. Candles, flowers, scratch-me stickers…as long as they emitted the scent of lavender, Jessica could orgasm. But the touch of Madison’s fingers or lips, the weight of her body and heat of her skin shattered anything Jessica could ever imagine or hope to manufacture. Tears bled into rivulets of water. She knew. She knew that no matter what she did, the need would never been fully assuaged unless…unless she let Madison back in. Whether by manipulation or chemistry, her body yearned for Madison. It was hard to remember why she needed to keep Madison at bay. The water began to cool which was just as well. With a vengeance, the hangover returned, splitting her cranium like a dinner roll.

                Malcolm was lurking by the bedroom door when Jessica stepped out of the bathroom with a towel snuggly wrapped around her. Damp impressions of her feet marked the floor as she crossed the room.

                “I need your okay on a couple of things and we should go over the two clients I just booked.”

                Jessica removed the towel then used it to dry her hair. “If you give me a few minutes, I’ll be right there, perv.”

                Malcolm’s eyes didn’t linger and he returned to the living room, shutting the bedroom door behind him.

                Responsibilities always won in the end. She could push them back every day, but they would unerringly return, sometimes larger. People like Malcolm and Trish helped to keep her from failing completely. Gratitude should have swarmed in her chest. Perhaps after some sleep Jessica would find it among the other threads she discarded.

Wet locks finger-combed and drenching the thin t-shirt between her shoulder blades, Jessica walked over to the desk in cut-off sweats. Exhaustion bowed her shoulders.

                “Here.” Malcolm said, setting down a paper plate. “I made you a sandwich.”

                Jessica tore off a corner then stuffed it into her mouth.

                “The electric bill is due but I’m not sure which account…?”

                Swallowing, she said, “Everything except clothes and food comes out of the business account.”

                “We should get a company credit card, too.”

                Jessica’s eyebrow slightly lifted. “My credit’s shit.”

                Shrugging, Malcolm handed her a piece of paper. “I’ll take care of it. This is the contract I signed this morning and the other one is scheduled to come in later today.”

                “When is ‘later today’?”

                “Four.”

                They spent the next hour discussing the two cases Malcolm lined up. It was unavoidable, much to Jessica’s dismay. As hard as she tried to concentrate, her mind wandered off topic. A few times Malcolm brought her back but only when guilt was the heaviest. She was doing the minimum, would regret it sometime in the future, but didn’t care at the moment. Malcolm had done pretty solid job of gathering preliminary data without guidance. Whatever he didn’t understand, Jessica was confident he’d be able to figure it out or really didn’t need to know.

                “I’ve got to get out of here.” Before Malcolm could object and his expression was completely telegraphing the impulse, Jessica rushed on, “Just do the standard checks, see if anything pops and we’ll go over what you have. Then we’ll know our next move, okay?”

                “Maybe you should change the sign out front.”

                Jessica was walking back into her bedroom. Without turning around she pulled off the t-shirt and answered, “How’s that?”

                “Should say ‘Ducasse & Alias Investigations’.”

                She slipped on a long sleeved shirt, dropped the shorts then wiggled into a pair of jeans. Sitting on the bed, she began putting on a boot then stopped and looked at Malcolm. “Tell you what, Igor-wannabe, you take point on one of these cases, how’s that?”

                “ _Really?!!_ ”

                “Sure. I mean, how bad can you fuck it up, right?”

                Malcolm opened his mouth then shut it, a quizzical expression on his face.

                Jessica shoved a foot into the other boot and stood up, fingers raking through damp tresses. She made sure she had everything she needed to go out before grabbing the black leather jacket and small backpack then hustling it to the door.

                “Don’t be here when I get back!” she called out as the door closed behind her.

§

The cold air helped clear her head. She had a destination in mind but wasn’t convinced she’d make it there. The little idea in the back of her head urged her forward like the soft pull of an oar through tranquil water. She could easily ignore it, go somewhere else, do something else. Each step, however, dipped the oar in a little deeper. The vague scent of lavender clung to her skin, puffing up from the warm confines of the jacket. Jessica tucked her chin and inhaled, holding it inside of her body, the pressure building, her heartbeat thudding against bone. Lightheaded, she expelled what was held in rushing relief.

                Madison Wu wasn’t the only thing bothering Jessica but she was the only thing Jessica wanted to latch onto. It didn’t make a whole lot of sense either. What she experienced with Madison wasn’t completely real. The attraction Jessica felt had been exploited by Madison’s manipulative power. She could have just as easily amplified Jessica’s anger, elongated a bout of depression, even soothed the ruffled feathers of fear. Nonetheless, Jessica’s body continued to yearn while snippets of thoughts began to form into ideas.

                When she stood in front of the grubby coffeehouse in Minion’s neighborhood, Jessica didn’t host an internal debate. She walked in and took a stool at the counter.

                “Ahhh, you still same.”

                Two other customers were seated at the other end of the counter. A group of three occupied a booth by the window. Jessica looked behind her from where the voice came.

                “Well no shit.”

                Liling’s eyes squinted as she silently stared as if considering Jessica’s face. “What’s this to me, hey?”

                “I need to talk to you— _privately_.”

                The waitress shrugged. “It not free.”

                Annoyed, Jessica hopped off the stool. “Jesus, you’re not the fuckin’ Asian Oprah, okay? I don’t need a life-lesson!”

                Liling laughed. “Oprah funny!”

                Hands on hips, Jessica glared.

                “Me get you some incest.”

                “Whaat?”

                “Yes, yes, come, come.   It’s good. Many Taiwanese family practice.”

                Jessica dodged Liling’s hand as it tried to claim her arm. “I, uh, don’t…”

                Liling called something out toward the kitchen. She managed to snag Jessica’s wrist and drag her down a narrow hallway, past the restroom. They stood in front of a door marked ‘office’.

                “Look, I don’t have any siblings anymore—I mean, I have a step-sister but, uh, I don’t think she’s into girls okay?“

                “What you say _ing_?!” A deluge of sounds rapidly came out of Liling’s mouth in angry bursts. She thrust open the door and motioned for Jessica to enter. “Me can’t fix _that_!”

                Slowly Jessica sank down onto a chair. Liling opened and closed a few desk drawers until she found a small rectangular tin. Carefully she pulled the top off with a slight popping sound. Jessica leaned over, curious. Inside there was a plastic bag nearly full with brown shredded leaves, several packets of rolling papers, and a sandwich bag filled with homemade cigarettes. Liling opened up the little bag, took one out and lit it up. She began her routine of two quick puffs followed by a longer one, the cigarette pinched between thumb and forefinger. Dual smoke streams exited the misshaped nostrils.

                After a few minutes of silence, Liling’s hand disappeared behind the desk then brought forth a bunch of sticks secured by a rubber band. She tossed the bundle on the desk.

                “In _sect_!”

                Relief was predominant but was soon chased by amusement. Jessica’s lips trembled as she suppressed a smile. Trying to appear properly chastised, she kept her eyes lowered. “My people call it incense.”

                Liling’s eyebrows shot upward. “That what I say! You have dirty mine.”

                “Mind.”

                “ _That what I say!_ ”

                Jessica frowned, growing impatient.

                “Okay, okay, me be serious now, no more cow shit.”

                “I think I’m gonna need a drink.”

                Liling shook her head. “You smell like drink, still in body. You need steam room! Okay, take out one stick and put between hands like, uh, Jesus pray.” When it was obvious Jessica didn’t understand, Liling snatched the stick out of her hands and flung it to the floor. The cigarette clamped between her lips was almost finished, making Jessica a little nervous but Liling merely squinted as she took Jessica’s hands and placed the palms and fingers together as if in prayer. Gently she inserted the incense stick just above Jessica’s thumbs. “Press hard. You no want it lose.”

                Much to Jessica’s relief, Liling tamped out the minuscule bud against the desk. “Okay, close eyes and think good things, okay? Me do rest.”

                “Uh, look, I don’t know what this has to do with anything, Liling. Don’t you want to know why I’m here?”

                “ _Iiieee_ , what me say to you? You talk too much!”

                Obediently, because what else did she have to lose, Jessica closed her eyes and kept her hands pressed firmly together. She heard a few movements from across the desk, the closing of a drawer and indistinct mutterings. The unmistakable rasp of a match against a striking surface was a drawn out sound in her head. There was some more swift resonances coming from Liling then a floral scent filled the air. Immediately Jessica’s shoulders relaxed and her chin dipped lower. It was all too familiar but didn’t have the same effect upon her. Inhaling deeply and slowly, she could detect the smallest trace of cedar intermingled with lavender. Liling began to chant unevenly, the rhythm no less evocative. Warmth washed over her tense muscles. Low in her chest, the breaths she held and gently released were steady, shallow. As Liling’s voice rose and tapered, Jessica’s thoughts were like water striders skimming on the surface of a pond, fleeting and never leaving a trail. A weightless sensation pumped from her heart, carried upon the backs of platelets that sluiced through the rest of her circulatory system. Within minutes or perhaps seconds, her entire body felt like it was floating.

§

It was nearly dark by the time she arrived but it was still too early. The warehouse was partially boarded up, surrounded by a chain-link fence. No trespassing signs and advertisements plastered a makeshift wall made of thin plywood. Jessica skipped over the area for a sag in the fence a little farther down that looked like an entrance onto the property. Two people, bracing against the cold wind, hurriedly walked past her. She took a quick look around then easily slipped through the hole in the fence. Hair was lashing her face despite how many times Jessica tried to pull it back but when she ducked behind a corner, the air receded into gentle whirls.

                Getting into the building proved to be the biggest challenge, albeit, not honestly much of one when Jessica’s abnormal strength was a factor. There were chains on the double-doors, padlocks securing them around the handles. It was just a good an entry as any she had come across. With a tug, the links broke, pinging against the concrete and bouncing a few feet away. The reminder of chains rattled as she gathered them up and tossed them to the side. Of course the doors were locked but it wasn’t a deterrent for her either. Jessica kicked the doors in and they swung wide, revealing a darkened corridor. A few vermin tippy-tapped across the linoleum floor, their startled squeaks alerting their brethren. Decay hung in the air as it swept through the corridor like a spectral moan. Jessica reached behind her and pulled the small backpack forward. Her hand dug into a zippered side pocket, pulling out a small but powerful flashlight. Dust particles hovered in the beam. With each step, the corridor seemed to narrow, become more cluttered by abandoned rubble of the administration section. When she turned the corner, the smell was like a brick wall causing Jessica to recoil. The hallway served as a hostel for vagrants, although ‘hostel’ was being kind. If it hadn’t been for the stench of human waste, she would never have realized their location. Her eyes watered and it was hard to draw breath. Slowly Jessica stepped back, her nose tucked in the crook of her arm. Underneath flattened cardboard boxes and crinkled newspaper, nestled amid ratty cloth remnants were the forgotten and forsaken. It wasn’t the first time she saw homeless squatters but she had to admit it she had never gotten as close to the squalor.

                Once she navigated through the hazards, Jessica came to another set of double-doors at the end of the corridor. The locks were new, expensive and reinforced. Obviously she was in the right place. She shined the light on the top and bottom hinges, considering the options. Her presence wasn’t a secret by any means. Kicking it in wouldn’t prove too difficult but unnecessarily creating havoc, especially with the vagrants just down the hall, didn’t seem prudent either. Before she made a decision, someone else did.

                “Keep your hands up. Turn around slowly.” To emphasize the commands, the sound of a bullet being chambered was crisp and hard.

                Never one for subtlety anyway, Jessica did as she was told with indolent disrespect. Three flashlights, mounted on assault rifles, were trained on her face and she struggled not to flinch.

                “Come with us.”

                Two guards on either side and the last one bringing up the rear, Jessica was escorted in silence. Someone keyed a mic, mumbled some code words which echoed down the corridor. They stopped at the vagrant hallway.

                “You gotta be kidding me. There’s no fu—“

§

Jessica woke up on a gurney in a metal plated room. The back of her head was tender and the pounding in it was almost intolerable. Gingerly her fingers brushed over the area, confirming the presence of a lump. She sat up and rubbed the nape of her neck then carefully swung her legs over. It was too bright in the room and too cold. The backpack was missing as well as the knife in her boot, cellphone and keys. Jessica hopped off the gurney and nearly stumbled to the floor. She scoped out the room and noticed the understated, small cameras in smoky globes that were mounted on the ceiling.

                “Take me to your leader!” Jessica said, the mocking tone conveying just how unimpressed she felt. “But I draw the line at anal probes unless there’s alcohol and lube involved.”

                It didn’t take long. The whoosh of an airlock being disengaged signaled the arrival of none other than Madison Wu.

                “I wasn’t sure you’d come this time.”

                “I should have changed my number.”

                Madison tilted her head to the side and sported a small grin. Her hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail, the lock of blue dangling over one eye. The pair of slacks she wore barely buttoned above her pubic bone. Jessica’s eyes were held captive by the flat expanse of stomach on display.

                “You know that wouldn’t have stopped me, baby.”

                “What’s with all the cloak and dagger shit, _baby_?”

                A wry smile flitted across her face. “You haven’t been agreeable so far.”

                “Knocking me unconscious—“ Jessica’s nostrils twitched at the scent of lavender in the air. Immediately she frowned, crossing her arms over her chest. “Don’t.”

                Madison laughed, almond eyes steadily regarding her. She shifted her stance, drawing Jessica’s unwilling interest. “Aw, that’s cute.” She said and entered Jessica’s space. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for the old fashioned type.”

                The lavender scent disappeared for all the good it did Jessica. Just a hint of the stuff was like a trigger and her body was going off accordingly. Arousal quickened her pulse. She tried to tamp it down but Madison’s fingertips were following the ridge of Jessica’s collarbone.

                “What do you mean, ‘old fashioned’?”

                They were so close Jessica could see the erratic beat in Madison’s neck.

                “Fuck me and find out.”


End file.
